Stone Soldiers 4: Shades of War

by C. E. Martin

  Shades of War

  C.E. Martin

  SHADES OF WAR

  (STONE SOLDIERS #4)

  C.E. Martin

  Copyright 2013 by C.E. Martin

  Cover Art: C.E. Martin

  Editor: Karen Martin

  www.StoneSoldiers.info

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places and events are purely fictional and not based on any real event. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is an amazing coincidence and nothing more.

  All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author, cemartin21967@gmail.com, with the exception of excerpts for the purposes of review or discussion, as explained in the Fair Use Act.

  Dedicated to God and my Family

  STONE SOLDIERS

  Mythical

  Brothers in Stone

  Blood and Stone

  Shades of War

  Coming Soon:

  Black Knight Down

  Contents

  Copyright

  STONE SOLDIERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  EPILOGUE

  STONE SOLDIERS

  They have hidden in the shadows for millennia- the mythical and the magical- emerging only to wreak havoc and slaughter the innocent. In a modern era where those with special abilities entertain the masses or work for private corporations, it falls upon the militaries of the world to defend against the supernatural.

  Colonel Mark Kenslir leads the men and women of America’s Detachment 1039, unofficially dubbed the “Blacksabers”. Rendered immortal by a combination of curses that grant him the strength and vitality of the werewolf and possessing a natural resistance to magic, Kenslir trains a new generation of supersoldiers to protect America.

  Captain Daniel Smith, Navy Seal, has been turned into a stone soldier- a man made of living stone, without the need for food, water or even air. Nearly indestructible, he can be deployed into any environment and deliver crushing opposition to any threat.

  Colonel Chad Phillips, stroke survivor and former paranatural soldier, has been given a second chance to serve his country as a stone soldier. Phillips brings not only years of combat experience to bear, but also his unique electrokinetic ability to manipulate electricity with his mind.

  Victor Hornbeck, postcognitive psychic, served for several years in the FBI, tracking down missing persons and fugitives with his unique gift. But now the young, introverted man has found a new life as a stone soldier- with his psychic powers intact.

  Jimmy Kane is an otherwise unremarkable teenager who has given up a chance to attend a prestigious engineering college to become the hero he always wished he could be. Despite a lack of military training or any paranatural ability of his own, Kane is a formidable stone soldier.

  Josie Winters is a beautiful young woman who has chosen a career serving her country. Related to Colonel Kenslir by blood, she has unlocked her potential and the paranatural ability to freeze objects with her mind.

  Dr. Laura Olson was turned into a vampire on the eve of her medical residency. Instead of being put down, she was recruited to serve her country and provided valuable intelligence on her undead brothers and sisters for decades. Now she is out in the field, using her powers to kill, or to heal- all in the name of National security.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Andrea Warner was tired of waking up in someone else's body. She knew she was once more in a stranger's flesh even before she opened her eyes. Normally, she had a comfortable bed, but when she awoke, she was laying on something very uncomfortable- perhaps a cot?

  Andrea opened her new eyes and looked up- instead of the square ceiling tiles of her quarters, she saw pale canvas. A tent?

  Andrea sat up slowly on the cot, causing it to creak loudly. She looked slowly around, trying to get her bearings. She was indeed in a canvas tent-like structure. There was no floor, only grass. Hers was but one of two cots in the tent. The other was occupied by a figure sleeping under a wool blanket, their back turned toward her.

  Andrea reached up and felt her new face, noticing that she was wearing long cotton sleeves- an undergarment of some type. Her face was covered in long stubble- she was once more in a man's body.

  Throwing off her own wool blanket, she swung her legs around and stood slowly. She was wearing heavy, blue pants, with suspenders that looped up, over her shoulders and her odd white undershirt. Judging from the texture of the skin and the age spots on the back of her new hands, she guessed the body she was in was that of a middle-aged, white man. With a slightly rotund belly.

  Andrea crept from the tent, ignoring the tall, black leather boots beside her cot. Time was of the essence in these situations. She needed as much information as she could get before she returned to her own body.

  Outside the tent, it was night. Andrea ignored the neat rows of other canvas tents and looked up to the sky. It was partly cloudy, but she quickly located the moon. A waning, gibbous moon. That at least helped narrow down when Andrea was, now she just needed to figure out where.

  The rows of tents blocked out any view of the local vegetation - save for the thick grass she stood barefoot in. And the partial cloud cover overhead blotted out most of the night sky. She couldn't use the stars or any landmarks to determine her location.

  The sound of men talking drifted through the night air. Andrea began walking toward it.

  She finally came out of the neatly arranged rows of canvas tents, and came upon the edge of a large, grassy plain. A low fog was forming over the field, limiting visibility to only a few hundred feet. On the edge of the camp, looking out over the field, a cluster of men were gathered around a campfire, laughing and drinking from tin cups. They wore dark blue uniforms. Civil war uniforms.

  Andrea whirled around, looking at the neat rows of canvas tents. It made sense now- except that it was impossible. She was in an encampment of the Northern Army.

  Her confusion was quickly replaced by a feeling of dread that swept over her. The hairs on the back of her host body's neck stood on end. Andrea turned slowly back toward the wide field.

  In the fog, shapes began to emerge- men. Marching side by side, in a broad skirmish line. Some wore uniforms, the same gray color as the fog, while some wore mismatched clothes. All carried rifles.

  The line of the approaching army stopped, and the men raised their rifles to their shoulders. The many rifles flashed in unison. A split second later, the sound of projectiles slicing through the air surrounded Andrea.

  The men around the campfire screamed as several of them were cut down by the projectiles. The survivors leapt to their feet- terrified and confused.

  Andrea turned back toward the army in the fog. They were aiming their rifles again. Once more, they fired- bright, silent flashes followed by a hail of projectiles.

  The men from the campfire were running now- in a panic. One charging toward Andrea was cut down by at l
east three projectiles. He thudded to the ground at Andrea's feet, one arm outstretched, as if pleading for help.

  Andrea looked back at the Southerners- she had no doubt that's who they were, despite how impossible this all was. She exhaled sharply in surprise. The attackers were no longer several hundred feet away, they were sweeping into the camp, rifles held at their waists as they charged in.

  An approaching man, a very young man, possibly in his teens, ran straight for Andrea. His pale face showed hatred as he thrust forward with his bayonet. The sharp point of the weapon speared through Andrea's stomach and she felt a blinding pain unlike anything she had ever felt before.

  Andrea grabbed at the rifle the bayonet was attached to, but her hands passed through it. She looked up at her attacker, confused.

  The young man's face seemed to melt away, revealing a skull beneath his kepi hat. The jaws spread wide, and the soldier seemed to scream silently at her.

  Then he ran through her.

  As though made of fog himself, the soldier swept forward, passing through Andrea and filling her dying body with a brief, intense chill. She immediately collapsed to the ground.

  As she lay in the grass, Andrea could feel the warm blood pouring from the wound in her stomach. Although her body was warm once more, she knew the sensation was fleeting. This body was in shock and would soon bleed out.

  Andrea ignored the sensation of dying- she had felt it before. Something had caught her attention. The wrist of the man who had died at her feet, moments ago.

  He was wearing a digital wristwatch.

  ***

  Andrea gasped and sat up in her own bed once more. Her thin body was covered in sweat and her blonde hair was plastered to her head and back. Her pajamas were soaked with sweat. She was gulping in deep breaths, her heart racing. She grabbed at the red phone beside her bed.

  "Duty officer!" She gasped into the phone as it immediately connected her to a control room not far away. "I need a transcriptionist!"

  Andrea set the handset back down and tried to control her breathing. Something bad was coming, and it was up to her to give as much information as possible. She hoped her vision had revealed enough to stop it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  At the top of the world, far from even the most remote outpost of civilization, Zachary Taylor Perkins trudged through the snow. Just above the horizon, the sun hung in the sky, casting its light on the arctic landscape continuously- at least for a few more weeks. Then it would dip below the horizon and the north pole would be plunged into its long, winter night.

  Zachary gasped in the cold air, pulling the sled carrying his supplies behind him with all his might. The cold air, hovering at just below freezing temperatures, burned in his lungs and streamed from his open mouth in long plumes. But Zachary would not stop. He was so close. He could feel it.

  For as long as he could remember, he had dreamt of the North Pole. Literally every night of his life he had dreamt of the far arctic reaches. And of going there.

  After graduating high school, Zachary had gone to college, becoming a geologist- with one goal in mind. To reach the North Pole. After college, the thin, blond-haired man with piercing gray eyes had landed a job with an oil company. But instead of sending him to the snowy North, his employer had sent him to jungles, deserts and even tropical waters. All in pursuit of oil.

  But still, his dreams continued. The North called to him.

  Less than a year ago, Zachary had finally gotten his dream assignment: a posting to the furthest reaches of Canada, inside the arctic circle. At first, Zachary had been overjoyed. The far north just felt like home. But the dreams continued. The irresistible pull northwards continued.

  Zachary began to spend his time off in the air, in privately chartered planes that flew him over the arctic landscape on trips that went further and further north. But it wasn't enough.

  Just a few weeks ago, Zachary could resist the call no more. Taking his considerable life savings, he outfitted himself and chartered a helicopter to take him as far north as he could afford. Then he set out with a team of sled dogs and headed even further north.

  The dogs were gone now. Their food had run out, and Zachary had released them- most of them anyway. He had to eat the others himself. Now he pulled his modified sled with the last of his provisions himself, desperately seeking something in the never-ending sunlight of the arctic.

  Zachary finally found it.

  At first it seemed to be just another outcropping of ice thrust up from the frozen sea- the tip of an iceberg. But as he approached it, Zachary realized it was an island. An island covered in ice and snow.

  His pace quickened. He didn't even realize that he let the ropes attached to his sled drop from his numb, gloved hands. He stumbled forward faster. Toward home.

  Zachary was excited now. The excitement warmed his body that had been ravaged by the cold for so long. He climbed over ice and rocks with renewed vigor. Finally, he crested a rise and stopped- very surprised at what he saw.

  It was a crater- several hundred feet across, and at least thirty feet deep. Rock had been blown from the rocky ground of the island by some terrific force. Zachary had seen nothing like this before.

  Sliding on his seat, he moved down into the crater- which offered him a partial respite from the cold wind. His beard cracked as he frowned, the frost in it splintering.

  This was not just a crater.

  Around the edges of the crater, there were cave-like openings. Nearly fifteen feet wide and half as tall. Most were collapsed, filled with snow-encrusted shapes. Some were still open. Judging from the depth of the snow, Zachary guessed the crater was only a few decades old.

  He walked to the opening of one tunnel, noting twisted, thin shapes he recognized as iron rebar used to reinforce concrete structures. The crater was at the heart of what had been a massive underground structure. And based on the shape of the crater, it had been struck from above- bombed.

  Zachary paused at the entrance to the tunnel, pulling a small pick axe from his belt. He used it to scratch at the ice on the twisted steel and concrete at the opening of the tunnel. There was no doubt about it- this was a man-made structure.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked quickly down the tunnel, but it was filled only with darkness.

  Zachary pulled an emergency flare from a pouch on his pant leg and ignited it. The bright red flame pushed back the shadows, showing the tunnel to be lined with smooth blocks. Unlike the other tunnels, at some point it had been cleared of the debris from the blast that formed the crater.

  He stepped tentatively down the tunnel, his flare lighting the way. Even under the layers of thermal clothing, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

  Ahead of him, just on the edge of the light from the flare, the shadows seemed to move. Zachary stopped and squinted, unsure if he had seen something or not.

  He took one step forward.

  The blackness of the shadows erupted- directly toward Zachary. He jumped back, dropping his flare as inky blackness swept toward him. The flare buried itself in the snow, plunging the tunnel into complete darkness.

  Zachary turned and ran. But his feet slipped on the ice-covered concrete floor of the tunnel. He fell onto his chest and slid. He was at the edge of the light coming in from outside. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees- out into the light. Then he rolled onto his back and looked back down the tunnel.

  It remained filled with darkness, with no movement save for the flickering of the flare where it lay on the tunnel floor, melting the snow and ice around it.

  He stood slowly and tried to control his breathing. In one of the first moments of clarity he had experienced since setting out on his one man expedition, he realized that his lack of food could be causing him to hallucinate. He then realized he had left his sled out on the frozen sea.

  He stood, then turned around to walk back out of the crater.

  Even in the bright light reflected from
the ice of the crater, the figure before him appeared as a dark, black shape. A man-sized, three-dimensional shadow. It lunged at Zachary, both hands reaching for him.

  Zachary recoiled and again lost his footing and fell backwards. Something stabbed at his back and he felt a sharp pain race from his back, through his body and out of his chest.

  He looked down at his chest, feeling the iron taste of blood filling his mouth. He had fallen onto a jagged, twisted length of rebar. The metal rod was dripping blood, sticking out of Zachary's chest for several inches, holding his body up.

  The black, human-like shape in front of Zachary leaned in, as though examining him.

  Zachary could feel his life fading. He had been spent when he found the island. The excitement of his discovery had carried him on, but his body had nothing left. As his pierced lung filled with blood, he breathed out a last, rattling breath and died, his mouth hanging open, his eyes going glassy.

  The black form then dove at Zachary's body, merging into it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The punch had shattered his body, radiating out from his chest and plunging Victor Hornbeck into a deep, black void. Then he opened his eyes and felt the sting of water- he was surrounded by water. It was warm and bubbly as it swirled around his body.

  When he had been punched he had been standing in the plaza of Chichen Itza, in the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico, battling a nine foot-tall, prehistoric giant. He had closed his eyes as an enormous six-fingered fist had crushed into his chest. But now, in what seemed only a split second later, he opened his eyes and found himself submerged in water. It was a puzzle he might have cared about, had he not been too busy being terrified.

  Victor could not swim.

  The water around him was not dark- dim light shone down from above, revealing a stony, tan and gray blur all around him. His feet were in something soft- like mud or clay.