Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  * * *

  “They’ve almost all moved into the trap,” said the G2 of the Division, Colonel (once Captain) Mahler. “There could still be some still coming out, but we’ve accounted for all the Elves, and especially for the mages and Trolls.”

  “What is this mass moving toward the North?” asked Delgado, looking at the virtual map that was displayed on the table in the center of the tent.

  “Conyastaya archers,” said the G2 with a smile. “Getting the hell out of dodge. Their compatriots have already made contact and are leading them to safety.”

  “And what about the Dwarves?” asked Delgado, hoping there was more good news.

  “I’m afraid they were intermingled with the Orc troops and weren’t able to get away,” said the Colonel. “Damned bad luck that.”

  “Can’t have everything,” said the General scowling at the map. “I wish we could have got them out too, and not just because they would have given us ten thousand more blades. But it’s not in the cards.”

  “You want me to issue orders to not fire on them?” asked the Sergeant Major.

  “No,” said Delgado after a moment’s thought. “They are combatants. If they surrender they are to be treated like any other enemy until we can separate them out.” The General looked over at the Conyastaya priestess. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But I can’t afford to lose any of my own by making exceptions. If they surrender they will be rounded up and we’ll see about repatriation. Until then.”

  “I understand, General,” said the beautiful Elf with a tight smile. “It will be as it will.”

  “Give the troops the five minute warning,” said the General to the Sergeant Major. “Tell the Artillery Commander it’s a go in five minutes.

  The Sergeant Major nodded and looked at the techs, who started calling out the orders.

  Delgado looked again at the map, wondering how many of his own men he would be burying at the end of this day. Part of the package, he thought. It came with command, and the higher the command, the harder the decision.

  * * *

  Six tanks and six APCs moved forward slowly. Not all of the mages had been identified, and it was hoped that these vehicles would bring them out of hiding. Hauptman Frantz Sturgil watched the vehicles roll forward and crossed himself. He knew he wouldn’t have the faith to go out there with them. And that was the point, and why he had not been chosen for this mission. But he knew the men in those vehicles had to be scared out of their skins, no matter their faith.

  Five of the tanks, four Abrams and a Leopard, had Christian crosses painted on their hulls and turrets. So did all six of the APCs. One Abrams had the Star of David painted on its strategic places. Sturgil had heard that some American Moslems and a couple of Buddhists had also volunteered. Since their religions had not been tested in battle it was decided not to risk them. Instead sixty Christians and five Jews moved forward to test the theory that the big brains had endorsed.

  Sturgil wondered if he would be watching a dozen vehicles turned into funeral pyres. Or would the theory be correct and the ploy work. The vehicles were now a hundred meters ahead of the line and steadily moving. Soon they would know, for better or worse.

  * * *

  Staff Sergeant Paul Morgan felt as nervous as the observers thought he would. He had faith in his God, and the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He believed that God would get them through this. Still, the images of seventy ton tanks going up in hellish flame was enough to make any man sweat it out, even a saint, which Morgan knew that he definitely was not.

  He looked over at the next tank to the right, the one with the Star of David symbols. He had always believed that the Jews were the chosen of God, and it was good to see that they were as protected as Christians on this world. He had also heard the theories that the followers of any of the religions of Earth would be protected by the deity of their Universe. Moslems he might be able to believe, since they were also people of the book. Mistaken people, but still worshiping the same God, in theory, as the Christians and the Jews. He wasn’t so sure about the Hindus, who were of course pagans, or the Buddhists, who really didn’t worship any God that he had heard of. But it wasn’t up to him to tell God what to do or who to protect. That was God’s business. All Morgan had to worry about was that his God protect him and the men around him.

  “I see movement ahead,” said a voice over the unit com circuit.

  He recognized the voice as that of Lieutenant Marinelli, a devout Catholic. He pulled his glasses to his eyes and looked to where he could see the Lieutenant pointing. There was a shimmering of the air at that point, but not really anything visible. But his hidden sense was going off full alarm, telling him that something was there that could cause them a lot of trouble. Or if not them, the tanks and APCs behind them.

  “Target that point I’m indicating on the repeater,” he said over the intercom to his new gunner, Sergeant Darren Smith, the son of a Baptist minister and a man of God himself. “Get ready to put a sabot round there, and follow up until I tell you to stop.”

  “OK, PM,” said the gunner, some nervousness in his voice.

  Morgan didn’t blame him, even if his view of the battlefield was restricted through the gun sight. There were a lot of, things, out there. Elves and Orcs and every other Lord of the Rings creature out there. He had loved that movie, sitting and watching it with his kids on movie nights. But these things were real.

  The thought of the kids made him close his eyes and hold back the pain. He didn’t know what had happened back in Utah. Or even if there was a Utah anymore. He said a little prayer, put his family in God’s hands, and opened his eyes, in time to see the first fireballs coming in. And then he didn’t have time to think of anything but fighting his tank.

  * * *

  “What are those idiots doing?” yelled out the General Prince Tristialla Mashara, watching as three of the groups of cloaked mages started throwing fireballs at the relatively few enemy vehicles that had come into range.

  “I guess they want to destroy those enemy before they can hit us,” said the younger Ellala that was the adjutant.

  “They’re giving away their positions,” yelled the General, scowling at the Ellala mages. “Just what the enemy intended.”

  “What can they do to us,” said the adjutant. “This is the mightiest force in the region, and we will crush their toys like the scrap they are.”

  The General looked at his adjutant like the man had gone mad, then realized he had been taken by the same madness that had put his army in this position. He had heard about the weapons of these creatures, and should have known better than to put them in such a vulnerable formation. But the arrogance of his own people had controlled him as well.

  “Where are those damned Conyastaya archers,” he growled, looking over at the wood line to where they still had not appeared.

  “My Lord,” called out a man on horseback, riding up and sliding the horse to a stop, then jumping down. “Those pigs of Conyastaya have deserted. Colonel Malikanis would like to send a couple regiments of cavalry after them and teach them the price of betrayal.”

  “I don’t think we can afford to weaken the army any more my Lord,” said the adjutant.

  “My Lord,” said the cavalry officer.

  “Listen,” said the General, hearing a whistling of something traveling through the air. At the same time he looked out on the field to see fireball after fireball winking out of existence as they reached the enemy vehicles. His worst nightmare had come true, and everything rumored about the newcomers was real.

  * * *

  Paul Morgan said a prayer to keep his nerves under control and continue to point his laser guidance system at the mages that were his target. It was hard to keep ones nerve when fireballs were coming in. Lots of fireballs, followed by even more fireballs. But so far all of them had burst on impact, manifesting a brilliant show of pyrotechnics. But nothing else. No heat, no fire, no death and destruction. The fireballs just f
aded away to nothing. After a couple of volleys of fireballs some lightning bolts and balls of super cold came in. To have no more effect than the fireballs.

  “Get ready to fire,” he ordered the gunner, knowing that the weapon was armed and ready, and the man on it as prepared as he could be. Still it made Morgan feel better to say something, even if it was redundant.

  And then his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of artillery rounds coming in, and he made sure that his laser was centered on the target. “Fire,” he yelled, just as the first round burst in the air over the target. The tank bucked from the shot, and he took comfort from the sound of the crew working to load another round.

  * * *

  Twenty kilometers back from the battlefield, near the entrance to the valley, twenty United States Army Paladin SP guns and seventeen German PZ2000s opened up on what was to be their last fire mission on this planet. Each gun fired and was reloaded by its automatic system, while at the same time its barrel rose, and fired again, until five rounds from each gun were in the air, all timed to fall on the Ellala army at the same moment. One hundred and eighty-five rounds in all. Some were standard rounds, exploding over the battlefield to spray a lethal rain of shrapnel into the ground. Some were filled with bomblets that were released to fall with firecracker like explosions, deadlier than any fireworks ever made. And some were rounds based on the Army Copperhead of years gone by.

  The Copperhead round had originally been made as an antitank round, made to home in on the reflections of a laser beam to hit the turret of its target with a 155mm payload. The newest variant was variable payload rounds, and all forty-two of the rounds fired were high explosive.

  At the same time the artillery opened up twenty four MLRS tracs, missile carriers based on the venerable Bradley IFV, ripple fired their rounds. Twelve missiles left each of the launchers, until two hundred and eighty-eight missiles were in the air. These were all carrying bomblet packages, over six hundred and forty per missile, which would drop over one hundred and eighty thousand over the target. Their reload tracs would have them up and loaded in less than five minutes, though they would not fire again unless it was judged necessary. Otherwise they would fire their two remaining loads at other targets near their maximum range of fifty kilometers, dropping bridges and cratering roads in order to impede the next enemy force to enter this area.

  Meanwhile over a hundred mortars were lobbing their smaller but just as deadly rounds into the concentration of the enemy. All in all it was a disaster for the Ellala.

  * * *

  The entire area seemed to explode under the impact of hundreds of thousands of explosions, small and large. Entire regiments melted away in an instant. Horses bucked in terror, then died before their riders could hit the ground. Rounds exploded over the mages, whose inertial shields bounced the shrapnel into the air. The Copperhead rounds came in right on target, exploding into the shields and weakening them. Several came all the way through and exploded in the midst of the mages, killing scores and injuring hundreds.

  The General Prince Tristialla Mashara had one moment of regret before a dozen bomblets exploded next to him. His armor repelled most of the shrapnel. It couldn’t repel those that didn’t hit armor, including the half dozen pieces that sliced into his skull and ended his life in an instant.

  Artillery was exploding all across the field. Mortars started on the edges of the concentration and moved slowly inward, building a fence that the soldiers could not escape.

  The tanks and APCs started to move forward as the artillery struck. Main guns roared, sending discarding sabot rounds into the mass of mages, or cutting into the concentrations of cavalry, adding to the slaughter. Commanders who were not holding laser trackers opened up with fifty caliber machine-guns or twenty millimeter cannon. The Bradley and Marder APCs, their weapons made to kill Soviet made cold war personnel carriers, wreaked slaughter on their targets.

  Here and there a tank or APC went up in flames. But not many. Not many at all.

  * * *

  On the edge of the field Antwoine McGurk watched in amazement as the modern weapons annihilated the enemy in their field of fire. The tank bucked under him every couple of seconds, as the 120mm gun sent round after round into the mass of enemy. This isn’t a battle, thought the Major, feeling sick to his stomach. This is a slaughter. Dear God, let it end.

  And then it was over. The armored vehicles were overrunning the enemy position. Some were surrendering, the few thousand who had survived the barrage.

  More missiles roared overhead, moving toward the other targets of the day. But this battle was done.

  * * *

  “The slaughter sickens me and my people, General,” said Hunt Leader Lasasadar Klinisura, looking in disgust at the humans. “It is as if the Gods of Death were triumphant on this field.”

  “And if we hadn’t have used it the Gods of Death surely would have won,” said Delgado, matching gazes with the Conyastaya. “Understand this, Hunt Leader. My people fight to win. If we can do it without slaughtering our enemy we will. If it takes killing every one of them to triumph, then we will do that.”

  “But the cost?”

  “The cost is high to us as well,” said Delgado, running his hand over his forehead. “Talk to those young men who brought about that slaughter. You might find a few who are celebrating the destruction of our common foe. But not many. I have seen battles that were slaughters on my world. Iraq, Somalia, the Balkans. And I still have nightmares where I see the faces of the dead. That will be the price my men pay. Now excuse me, Hunt Leader. I need to get in touch with my superior and tell him about what we have done today. And I’m sure his feelings will be ambivalent as well.”

  Delgado turned and walked back into his tent.

  “Do not be too hard on him, or the humans,” said the Conyastaya priestess to the Hunt Leader. “The humans are on the whole good people, better than most of those who died this day. And because of that they are not natural killers. They can kill, and they are very good at it. But it is not something they like doing. Despite their institutions that seem to glorify it.”

  “And when they lose their machines?” asked the Hunt Leader, who had his entire people to worry about in this revolt against their long time masters.

  “Then we will see them at their best,” said the priestess with a smile. “And the evil Emperor will sit on his throne and tremble that such people are coming for them. Never doubt that, my friend,” she said, putting a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “For the Gods have foretold it. And it is coming to pass.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “So you have no idea when this attack will occur?” asked the General, walking out of the bunker and leading the way to the mess tent.

  “No, my Lord General.” said the Conyastaya Priestess of Arathonia Leinora Glassandora. “All the human adept was able to send to me were the impressions of his dream, which did not show the time. Only that it would be soon.”

  “Meaning from this morning to the evening three days from now,” said the General with a frown. “That doesn’t give me much to go on. And the attack will take what form?”

  “The adept thought it would be dragons,” said the priestess. “He is new to the art, but must be blessed for the Goddess to send him such a vision.”

  “Wish she would have given him a time scale on the vision,” said Cliff Jackson, walking along with the pair. “We are already on war footing.”

  “Can’t you do more to prepare for the attack?” asked the priestess, her brows narrowing.

  “Oh, we can prepare for the attack alright,” said the General. “As soon as we are aware that it is on the way. What we can’t do is stay on alert for three whole days. The men and women would be worn out by the third day, and we would have to pass up doing a lot of needed work.”

  “But the prophecy,” said the priestess, her eyes wide.

  “The prophecy is all well and good,” said the General, raising his eyebrows. “Just like your other prop
hecy about the big German guy. It just isn’t very useful information, at this time. Oh, not that it won’t help, but we still have to react when it comes. Doesn’t mean we won’t be alert, but can’t stay at maximum readiness for that long a time. Do you understand?”

  “I understand General,” said the priestess, bowing her head.

  “Don’t worry, young lady,” said the General.

  That brought a true smile to the priestess’ face, knowing that she was at least a thousand years the man’s senior.

  “We will be ready. You’ve seen how fast my men can respond to a crisis.”

  “Yes, I have seen that General.”

  “And we will have all of our anti-air resources ready, won’t we Cliff.”

  “Yes sir,” said the Sergeant Major, throwing an abbreviated salute. “We will be ready to kick some dragon ass.”

  The woman smiled at that again. She liked these profane humans. They were good men and good allies. She just hoped that they knew what they were dealing with, what was coming their way.

  * * *

  General Jossianli Melisardra wolfed down the last of his breakfast while he walked to where his dragon was being readied for flight. The last staff meeting was done. Everyone knew the plan, knew where to go when they hit the valley. Now was the time to get the beasts into the air and show the strangers the might of the Ellala’lysana Empire. The flying might that had crushed all opponents who had resisted the mages and ground armies of the Empire.

  Death Bringer screeched to the sky when he smelled his master approaching, adding his cries to the din that was echoing across the low valley. Over four hundred dragons were being made ready for the mission. They had all fed during the night, and now ground crew were finishing the loading of weapons and provisions for the riders.

  The General accepted the salute of his crew chief while he sent a quick mental message to his mount, grinning at the eagerness of the response. Death Bringer was ready to live up to his name this day. Was in fact relishing the prospect of immolating ground dwellers, and rending them with tooth and claw. And the General was relishing the prospect of riding the great beast into battle, and watching while his force destroyed an enemy that was glued to the ground.