by Mark Harritt
While Matki was carrying Mike’s old rifle, Jendi had been armed with Rob’s old pistol. Mike looked at the boy. He could understand why Matki wanted Jendi to be armed, especially where they were traveling, “Sure, I don’t see a problem with that. Hopefully we don’t get to the point where we have to redistribute pistol ammo.”
Matki smiled at Mike, “Thank you.”
Everett spoke, drawing Mike’s attention. “Mike, we can’t sustain this,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. Tomorrow’s going to be different. We’re going to stay as far ahead of them as possible,” Mike replied, “We just need to hit them a few times to keep them interested. Hopefully, if we can move them further down the valley, Matki’s tribe will have enough time to get away. One more day following us and they have two days of travel to get back, unless they use the aircraft to pick up and re-insert back to the original landing zone. Even then, they have to waste time picking them up and relaying them back.”
Tom and Mickey had dropped their hats to the ground, putting the smaller pieces of the rifles they were disassembling into them so that they could clean their weapons. Jendi was interested in what Tom was doing, so he waved the boy over to show him how to clean the rifle. Matki spoke to Jendi, and Jendi replied back to him.
“What did you tell him?” Tom asked.
“I told him to look, not touch, unless you hand him something. I told him that there are small parts that he could lose if he touches the wrong thing.”
“Yep, that would be bad. Tell him to watch closely for a few days. After that, I’ll have him cleaning all the rifles.”
Matki told him and Jendi laughed. Matki spoke sharply to him, hooking a thumb back in the direction of the grey men. Chastened, Jendi replied respectfully to his father, his voice low.
Tom ignored the exchange, “Tell Jendi that the key to cleaning the rifle is to have a hat that you can drop all the small pieces in so that you don’t lose them. Then you clean each piece, one at a time, then oil lightly, wipe it off, and reassemble the rifle.”
Matki relayed the information, then pointed back at Tom, “I told him to pay attention to what you are doing.”
Tom started cleaning the rifle. Jendi was absorbed everything that Tom was doing.
Everett continued his conversation with Mike, speaking in a low voice.
“What if the grey men don’t want to stop?” Everett motioned toward the high mountains that surrounded them. “It’s not like we can get away from them.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to take the valley back up through the necropolis. That leads back towards home, and I don’t want them to know where we’re from.”
Mike pointed down the valley, toward where it opened up in the bowl that the dragons controlled, “We may have no choice. We may have to head down into the dragon valley. If we do that, we can’t go home. We have to keep moving away from the compound. No matter what, we can’t let these soldiers know where our home is.”
It was a sobering thought. There was a very good chance that they’d never see the compound again. They’d lost their families when they’d been ripped from the twenty-first century. Now, they were faced with losing their new families. They already had one child that would never know his father. There was a very good chance that Everett would never know his child either.
Mike was torn. He wanted to get back to Jennifer. He knew that the safest thing for her was his chosen course of action, though. Mickey and Tom both had girlfriends at the compound. It was a tough choice, but it was the right one.
Mike opened up the conversation to Tom and Mickey, “What do you guys think?”
Mickey spoke first, “Well, I don’t like the idea. But we don’t have a choice. It’s too dangerous for these bastards to find out where they are. I’d rather Tracy live without me than to put her in danger.”
Tom agreed, “Latricia’s a good woman. There are men back there that would be very good to her. There’s no way I’d ever do anything to put her in danger. Hell, I wouldn’t even do that to Mitchem.” He thought for a second, “Well, maybe Mitchem.”
Mike chuckled at the qualifier.
Everett spoke, “Mike, there might be another way to deal with this.”
Mike looked at Everett, “You have an idea?”
“Well, we just need to make sure that none of the grey men walk away from this.”
“I’m all ears if you have an idea, Ev.”
“Well, the grey men know that they’re dealing with small arms fire and ground troops,” Everett pointed out.
Mike nodded, “That’s all we have.”
Everett shook his head, “No, that’s all we have right here. We have heavy weapons back at the compound. And, they’re mobile.”
Mike thought about this, “You want to bring the Mechs through the valley for support?”
“You have to admit, they won’t be expecting it.”
Mike shook his head, “That’s risky. If any of them get away, they’ll take the information back to their chain of command. They’ll come here with something more than infantry next.”
Mickey put down the bolt carrier group that he was taking apart, “I think that’s going to happen anyway. When we run out of bullets, the only thing we can do is run. They ain’t as fast as us, so they’ll wonder about the people that got away.”
Mike looked at Tom, “What do you think?”
Tom shrugged, “I think we’re going to see more of the grey men. Our compound is only about sixty miles from Matki’s village. Eventually, they’re going to find us.”
Mike’s expression grew distant as he thought about Tom’s last statement. No matter what they did, it was doubtful that the grey men would ever leave them alone. Mike wished they’d never found the damned necropolis.
“Dammit, we have no choice. We have to bring the Mechs in. We have to buy enough time to move everything out of the compound. We just have to figure out how to take them all out.” Mike took a deep breath, “Our problem is the aircraft. If one of them gets away, they’ll know about the Mechs.”
Everett spoke, “Well, Mike, it’s not like we’re native. If Matki’s people are the standard in this area, they know we aren’t from here. We’ve used Claymores, explosives, rifles, hell, even thermite on the robots at the necropolis. They have to realize by now that they aren’t dealing with indigs.”
Matki cued on the unfamiliar term, “Everett, what is an ‘indig?’”
Everett glanced over at Matki, “Ah sorry, it’s short for indigenous, as in native person. It means, from this area.”
Matki nodded, “Thank you for explaining it.”
Everett chuckled, “No problem. Hell, you speak English a hell of a lot better than I’ll ever speak your language.”
Everett turned back to Mike, “But, back to my original point, I pretty sure they’ve figured out we ain’t from around here.”
Mike frowned, “Yeah, true. But it’s not like we had a choice. We had to use those weapons to stay alive. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been able to stay ahead of them. We keep hitting them with something they don’t expect.”
Everett nodded, “And we have to keep doing that to buy time.”
Mike didn’t like it, but he had to agree with Everett, “Okay, you’ve sold me.” He paused, “I still don’t like the aircraft though. If we can, we need to deal with that as well.”
Tom finished cleaning his rifle, did a function check, and chambered a round, “Well, I don’t care how advanced they are, or what kind of magic technology they have, a copper jacketed round through the engine is going to put it out of operation.”
Mickey chimed in, “Tom has a point. Plus, the aircraft they’re using don’t seem to be made for combat operations. Probably not armored.”
Mike was still uneasy about the problem. He didn’t see a way around it though, “Well, if the aircraft come close to the Mechs, they can always take them out with the rail guns.”
Mike turned to Matki, “Matki, what do you think? Can
you make it there and back in two days?”
Matki thought about it, “That is a long distance to cover in two days. I can run there and back, that is not the problem. Plus, you are moving closer to the compound, so the return trip won’t take as long as the trip there. I’m just worried about the animals. There are a lot of predators in the dragon valley. I do have a way around that though. I’m just worried about dragons in the valley.”
Mike was curious about what Matki had said, “What do you mean, you have a way around the predators?”
Matki smiled at Mike, “Well, with all the dragons that you like to kill, I decided to acquire a few things.” He rummaged around in his back pack and pulled two milled aluminum containers out, “Will made these for me. I found and milked the poison sacks of the dragons, and I acquired some of the dragon musth.” Matki handed the containers to Mike.
Mike took them from Matki, “Which is which?”
Matki pointed at the container in Mike’s right hand, “That is the dragon musth.”
Mike sat down the container with the poison. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to open that one up. He partially opened the container with the dragon musth in it. He didn’t even get it open all the way before he cringed, “Oh, good lord.”
The smell was overpowering. He quickly screwed the top back down, coughing as bile rose up in his throat. He handed the containers back to Matki.
The smell hit the others.
“Oh, wow, that’s intense,” Everett said as he covered his nose.
Tom started sneezing, putting his hands over his face to muffle the sound.
Mickey coughed, “Damn Matki, that’s intense.”
Matki laughed, “Believe me, it’s better than the alternative.”
Mike’s eyes narrowed, “You told me that animals left you alone because you smelled like a dragon. How did you manage that?”
Matki shrugged and spread his hands, “Dragons pee, just like any other animal.”
Mike almost threw up, “You mean you rolled in dragon piss.”
Matki smiled, “I didn’t ‘roll in it,’ no. A little goes a long way. I’m still alive. Their urine masked my smell.”
Mike looked at the containers, “I can well imagine that. No wonder Balia made you bath before she let you back in the house.”
Matki patted the container, “This will keep the other predators off of us. It will, however, draw in any other dragon that’s around.”
“You think you can do it?” Mike asked.
Matki nodded, “Unless ‘Murphy’ screws things up.”
“How are you going to find us when you come back?” Mike asked.
Matki held up a hand, then turned to Caul and Geonti. He started talking to them. Geonti answered him.
Matki turned back to Mike, “It will not be a problem. They will lead you to a location that is known to all of us. When you arrive, the ambush will be set. Plus, Jendi will come with me. I will send him back once I make contact with Jennifer, to let you know that we are coming.”
Mike looked at Jendi, “Isn’t it dangerous to send him out by himself?”
Matki shook his head. He patted the containers, “Not with this.”
Mike nodded. The conversation finished, everybody turned to the maintenance of their gear. Mike settled back, and started field stripping his rifle to clean it. He thought about Matki’s comment. Mike was very worried about Murphy.
----------------------------------------------------
Caon Verjon tried to control his temper. His heart was pounding in his chest. A vein pulsed on his forehead. His jaw was clenched, the muscle standing out in sharp relief. He was still dressed in the blood drenched combat uniform that he’d been wearing when the bomb in the grave had gone off. Flecks of the dried gore had been peeling off all day.
“Tell me that again,” He spit through gritted teeth.
The sub-Caon stood stiffly at attention, fearing for his life. He’d had the unenviable job of relaying the casualty count to the Caon.
“Lord Cao . . .” he started.
Verjon slashed through the air with his hand, “I am not a Lord Caon, don’t address me as such.”
The sub-Caon nodded and tried to start again, stuttering, “Lor …, I mean, Caon Verjon, there were eight-seven men wounded, and thirty-six killed. Your three sub commanders, Caon Dagit, Jarjil, and Kindi Var are all dead. Carthars Macigi and Farnswar are also dead.”
“By the Damned Gods! How … In … The … Fourteen Hells did this happen.”
A growl grew from deep in his gut, his blood pressure rising as it rose through his chest, and into his throat. He lost the battle. He picked up the table in front of him and howled as he threw it across the tent. He grabbed the sub-Caon by his combat vest and started to punch him.
The sub Caon knew better than to try and defend himself. He just hoped that the Caon would stop short of permanently disabling or killing him.
Verjon felt better with the first three punches. Soon though, the sub Caon slipped into unconsciousness, and Verjon grew tired of holding him up to punch him. He dropped him on the floor and walked back and forth cursing.
He’d arrived here with 330 men ready for combat. Now, he only had 207 combat ready men to find and kill these men. The reports from the battle weren’t helpful. From those reports, it sounded like there were a hundred enemy soldiers with traps strewn throughout the forest. Or ghosts. Not one of his men were able to tell Verjon what the enemy soldiers looked like. They’d only seen glimpses of them throughout the day.
All day long, his men had returned, carrying the wounded back to the aircraft to be taken from the battlefield and flown back to their forward operating base. A steady stream of equipment stripped from corpses had been piled in the landing zone. Nobody had seen the enemy. His men had no idea what they looked like.
“This is unacceptable. They can’t be ghosts. They’re real men,” He raged. He picked up equipment and threw it across the tent. He kicked the equipment on the floor and sent it flying out the door of his command tent. He walked over and started kicking the sub-Caon on the floor. The sub-Caon was still unconscious but moaned as Verjon’s boots thumped into his ribs. Strangely, that had a calming effect on Verjon.
Verjon started walking around the tent, his hands clasped behind his back. He calmed down as he walked. He was still upset, but he was able to think as the rage receded from his mind. He walked out of the tent and breathed in the night air. He needed to change his tactics. Somehow, he had to find and kill these soldiers.
As he walked, the men avoided him, afraid to draw his attention. He stood, watching the wind blow through the trees. Branches and tree tops danced in the capricious wind gusts. He stared down the valley in the direction where the unknown soldiers had fought his men to a standstill. On either side of him, tall mountains stretched up into the night sky, the white tops standing out in the moonlight. Movement to contact was very efficient to find the enemy. But, you had to have the capability to fix and flank.
That was the problem. His men had been moved too quickly, running to engage in point to point combat. They’d been led into traps, men bunching up to create big targets.
He turned to one of the guards, “Go get my officers, the ones that are still alive. Tell them to get here quickly.”
The guard ran away like the Gods themselves were chasing him. Verjon walked back to his tent. He walked through the door flaps and looked around at the chaos. The sub-Caon was still unconscious on the rug. Verjon walked over and picked up the table and sat the chair behind it. He walked over to his chest, pulled out glasses and a decanter of honey liquor. He sat it on the table. He walked over to the sub Caon, squatted down over him, and started lightly slapping him. The sub-Caon groaned and blinked his eyes against the light in the tent.
“Are you damaged?” Verjon asked him.
The sub-Caon ran his hand over his face, feeling for broken bones, “I don’t think so, Caon Verjon.”
Verjon grunted, and stood up, holding
out his hand to the young officer. He helped him up and helped him over to the chair, “You want Aguer?”
The sub-Caon stared at the bottle, his mind slow from the beating that he’d just received, then nodded. Verjon poured three fingers of liquor for the young man. He slid the glass over to the sub-Caon, “What’s your name, sub-Caon?”
The sub-Caon picked up the glass, took a drink, and winced as the liquor hit the open cuts in his mouth, “My name is Fartheon, Caon Verjon.”
“Fartheon, you’re going to lead one of my companies tomorrow.”
The sub-Caon stopped drinking and looked up at Verjon to see if he was serious. He didn’t see anything to indicate that Verjon was joking, though, “Thank you for your faith in me, Caon Verjon.”
Verjon poured three fingers for himself. He picked up the glass and took a drink, swirling it in his mouth, “You deserve a chance to prove yourself after the beating I gave you. Besides, it’s not like I have many officers left.”
Fartheon didn’t argue the point. Instead he took another drink.
The door to the tent swept up and one of his guards stuck his head in, “Caon Verjon, the sub-Caons and Carthars are here.”
“Let them in.”
The senior sub-Caon looked through the door. Verjon motioned for him to come in. The sub-Caon walked in and the other, remaining sub-Caons and senior Carthars entered behind him, moving around the tent so that the ones behind them could enter. They looked at the seated Fartheon, and noted the bruises and cuts on his face.
Verjon looked around at his remaining chain of command, “We had a rough day today.”
One of the sub-Caons started to speak, but shut his mouth quickly as Verjon held his hand up, “I am not interested in recriminations right now. I am not accusing or blaming anyone, right now.”
That last part indicated that the sub-Caons and senior Carthars would continue to live a while longer. The tension in their body language eased as they realized this.
Verjon continued, “Instead, I am blaming the tactics that we’ve been using. We’ve been traveling in columns toward where we thought the enemy was operating, with our men sprinting forward as they heard the sound of the guns ahead of them.” Verjon took a drink of the liquor, then poured more as he finished it, “This indicates good morale, and the bravery of our men as they tried to engage and kill the enemy.”
