"The UN wants us to back off—like right now." The president directed his gaze to the occupants of the room. "The UN Secretary General was quite insistent, particularly given that this is sovereign United States territory and he has no say in what we do and don't do, but he was … shall we say, heated in his request. He wants us to quarantine this site until we can make contact. In fact, he's pushing all of the nations that have had an incursion to avoid conflict, to cordon off the alien sites and calm the populations."
"Mr. President," said the chairman, "we may not want to give the aliens that time." He indicated McKnight. "This is General McKnight from USSOCOM. He commanded Task Force Devil during the … incident last year."
The president met McKnight's gaze. "You were the one taken, weren't you?"
McKnight stood. "Kidnapped, Mr. President. I have first-hand experience with these aliens. We call them dark elves—and they are decidedly hostile."
The image changed once again, now showing both a long-range photo of one of the dark-skinned, graceful elf-like humanoids that ruled Rubicon, as well as an artist sketch of the female dark elf that had attacked the Magic Kingdom with her basilisk and kidnapped McKnight. A collective gasp ran through the room. Most people wouldn't have been read-in on Operation Rubicon. It was a startling thing to be presented with evidence of extraterrestrial life.
The president shook his head. "I've seen the pictures. We've left them the hell alone for a year. Why attack now? And why just Fort St. John? Has there been another unauthorized mission?"
"No, Mr. President," said McKnight. "We've done nothing to provoke them further."
"They have no technology, right, just swords and spears?" The president looked from McKnight to the chairman.
"They are very powerful and very dangerous, Mr. President," said McKnight. "Believe me. They are adept at using an energy force we just don't understand, one that mirrors … magical abilities, for lack of a better term. We have no defense against it. A single dark elf woman with her pet basilisk attacked our base, killing scores of elite soldiers, destroying armored trucks. She took me prisoner with a … a wormlike creature of some kind that burrowed into my neck that she then controlled through a mental link, like telepathy. I was completely helpless and would have done anything she demanded of me. Anything. I shudder to think what an entire army like that could accomplish, medieval weapons or not."
"I read all this, but I didn't think, didn't realize…"
"It's all true, Mr. President. Whatever their intent is, it is hostile to us. Despite the lack of violence in the other, more-isolated, incursion sites, I think you can see their true colors in Fort St. John."
"Some, including many in this room," said the president, "have counseled me that they believe we provoked them, that Task Force Devil stirred up a hornet's nest by spying on them then attacking one of their forts to rescue you."
McKnight shook his head. "We conducted recon missions, true, but we were never aggressive, never hurt anyone. They attacked us, Mr. President. After they … after they took me, that was the only time we fought back. We've avoided them since, cancelled all further missions to their world. We thought we could put the genie back in the bottle and avoid further contact with the dark elves. We were wrong, horribly wrong. Make no mistake, Mr. President, whatever it is they're building in the desert, and elsewhere around the world, we can't let them finish. These are not the actions of a peaceful race. We must strike first."
The president's science advisor jumped to his feet, his chair rolling back. "Attack? Are you insane? This is your fault, General. You and your Task Force Devil incompetents have done everything wrong here. We invaded their world first. Now you want to kill the only extraterrestrial life we've ever come across? Mr. President, please!"
The conference room erupted into angry denials and people trying to speak over one another. The president's chief of staff rose and shouted them all down. "Goddamn it," he said. "If you can't control yourselves, you'll all be removed."
The president shook his head. "I'm not attacking an alien race, General McKnight. I'm sorry for what happened to you, but there have been far too many misunderstandings and missteps in dealing with these … dark elves. We need calm. We need distance. And most importantly, we need to figure out how to communicate with them."
"Mr. President," said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, "I can understand the high emotions here, and believe me, I wish to avoid unnecessary bloodshed as well, but I believe General McKnight is right. These dark elves may not have advanced technology, but they have somehow created interstellar gateways, in essence, duplicating Operation Rubicon's technology—something a race at their technological level shouldn't be able to do. Even more alarming, they're better at it than we are. We have a hard enough time sending a platoon to their world; they've just sent multiple armies to ours. That makes them a spacefaring race. If they're advanced enough to travel across space through gateways, then they understand the implications of sending multiple invading armies to our world and attacking one of our cities. This is an invasion."
"Bullshit!" said the science advisor, his face red. "We don't know anything of the kind. They may simply be reacting to our earlier invasion of their world, self-defense. Let's stand back and observe, Mr. President. You don't want to be the man who goes down in history as having destroyed an alien race during first contact."
"They've already attacked us," said McKnight. "That was our base they destroyed in Canada, a joint American-Canadian force. Our own soldiers have died. Canadian civilians are being killed as we speak. We need to help."
"Mr. President," said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, "with your permission, we can send the lead elements of the 82nd Airborne Division, the rapid deployment force. They can be wheels up in less than a day."
"Right," said the science advisor, "because that's what we need, uneducated grunts thrown into a shoving match with an unknown race. There'll be bloodshed in a moment. Don't do it, Mr. President. For God's sake, don't do it."
"Enough!" said the president, slamming his palm down on the table. "We're not going to war if we don't need to. We're going to contain the incursion in Arizona—our country, not Canada. Give the order, General," he said to the chairman. "Deploy the 82nd, but send them to Arizona. They can base out of Luke Air Force Base, but I want them on the ground now, and I want at least a hundred-mile exclusion zone around those aliens, those dark elves. Nothing goes in, over, or under the exclusion zone without my express command." He turned to his science advisor. "Ed, figure out how we're going to make contact with them. We need to calm this down. Now!"
"Yes, Mr. President," said both men. Only the science advisor looked pleased.
"What about Task Force Devil?" McKnight asked. "What about Fort St. John?"
The president stared at him for several moments, his lips a tight line of displeasure. "I'm the president of the United States of America, General, not Canada. They have their own army. I'll talk to the Canadian prime minister, offer what help I think is appropriate, but he needs to make his own decisions."
"Mr. President, the Canadian army is not capable of—"
"I understand the limitations of our northern neighbors, General, but they have chosen to underfund their military. Now they must live with that decision. For my part, I won't make a terrible situation worse by fighting a war in another country. My decision is final."
"Yes, Mr. President," said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, meeting McKnight's eyes, the message clear—let it go.
McKnight ran his palms over his face. For the first time in years, his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He felt… helpless, just like when the dark elf woman enslaved him with that obscene centipede.
The meeting done, the president rose and stood in place, looking over the assembled men and women as they jumped to their feet. McKnight joined them, his knees threatening to buckle. "Let me be very clear, ladies and gentlemen," said the president. "We are going to contain this problem, not make it wor
se."
The president and his staff filed out quickly, McKnight watching them, still not believing what had just happened. The Canadians can't just "contain" this problem, not with the dark elves butchering civilians in Fort St. John. They'll have to do something, but with the task force out of action, they won't understand the true nature of the threat, what the dark elves are capable of, until it's too late. It'll be a massacre.
Then he remembered he wasn't the only soldier who had fought the dark elves.
Bob Archer, his poker-buddy intelligence officer, stepped in front of him, concern on his face. "You coming, Oscar?"
McKnight shook his head. "I need to make a phone call."
17
As Elizabeth was descending the steep hill that connected the railroad bridge to the northern shoreline, she came face to face with a five-point buck. It stood a dozen paces away, near the trees at the base of the hill, staring at her. She froze, actually gasping in wonder, her pulse racing. The buck snorted softly, shaking its antlers. This was hardly the first time she had seen a deer, but never had she been so close. They could have been the only two creatures on the planet. Then, as if bored, the buck huffed its breath out, turned about, and trotted off into the trees, disappearing from sight.
It didn't seem worried. Does that mean there are no more of those hellhounds in the area? She hadn't a clue but found the thought comforting.
She moved to the base of the hill, where she came out onto a narrow paved road leading east through the woods. Now, every time the wind gusted, it brought with it the stench of smoke. She knew in her gut something terrible had happened in Fort St. John. Despite her weariness, she picked up the pace, moving quickly along the road.
For the next kilometer or so, the road cut through woods, following the river on her right. Then the woods ended abruptly, and the road continued over cleared lands. Farmers' fields and grassy hills with small sheds and dirt roads dotted the terrain, with what looked like the outskirts of a small town to the east—Taylor. She had made it. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
Now, she began to trot again, surprised that she still had the energy. Minutes later, she saw a red pickup truck to her left, barreling down a dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dirt as it headed toward Taylor. She waved her arms and yelled, but the driver kept going and disappeared from sight. When she reached the outskirts of the town, she slowed to a walk again, panting as she caught her breath.
Taylor was a tiny community, barely a town at all. At best, a couple thousand people lived there, with the entire town built up on either side of the Alaskan highway that ran south to the bridge across the Peace River. Taylor's only industries were a gas processing plant that ran a pipeline south to Kamloops, and the Canadian National Railroad yard, which Elizabeth now walked alongside on her left. Had it not been for the town's eighteen-hole golf course and a motocross track, no one Elizabeth knew would have ever come here.
But as small as Taylor was, something was wrong.
The railroad yard was deserted, with long rows of rusty boxcars sitting silently. The only other signs of life she saw were dogs loping along near far tree lines—at least she hoped they were dogs. It wasn't until she came closer to the Alaskan Highway that she finally heard the signs of life—car horns and a dull angry roar that grew in intensity the closer she walked. She heard the sound of hundreds, maybe thousands of vehicle engines, interspersed with the occasional angry shout.
She walked by quiet homes, some with their doors hanging open, as if the occupants had run away. A single orange cat darted out in front of her, paused and stared at her, then ran away, disappearing into weeds on the other side of the road. The Taylor Motocross track on her left was empty and silent.
Then, as she came over a hill, she saw the highway for the first time in the distance. She had been right: it was bumper-to-bumper cars and trucks as far as she could see. Nothing moved, but all of the engines were idling, with people standing atop trunks and hoods. The traffic filled all four lanes, with everyone trying to head south in the direction of the bridge a couple of kilometers away. They're running away, she realized, confirming her fears that the dark elves had attacked Fort St. John as well as the Magic Kingdom.
Please, God, let my family be safe.
Farther up the road, where it met the highway, was the Taylor Community Hall, a two-story building containing the town hall offices, a curling rink, and a small pool. Her school had come here for a curling bonspiel once, a lifetime ago. Cars and trucks filled the parking lot, and milling about the vehicles was a throng of clearly agitated people, hundreds of them. She could hear their angry shouts from far back.
Other than the railroad bridge she had used, the Taylor Bridge was the only route across the Peace River for hundreds of kilometers. It was the major artery for the Alaskan highway—and it looked as though everyone who lived in the north was now trying to get across it at the same time.
Elizabeth saw flashing red lights in the parking lot and headed in that direction, edging past the frightened and angry-looking crowd. Many of those present brandished hunting rifles.
A large, overweight bearded man in a plaid shirt stood atop the cab of a small fire truck, a bullhorn in his hand as he tried to calm everyone down. As she slipped through the crowd, people began to notice Elizabeth, no doubt noting her army clothing and assault rifle. Someone cried triumphantly that "the army is here," while another grabbed at her sleeve, demanding to know where the other soldiers were. The crowd parted as a uniformed RCMP officer, dried blood on the side of her face, pushed her way to Elizabeth. More RCMP officers joined her, moving the crowd back. The RCMP officer, her face pale, gripped Elizabeth's elbow and dragged her behind the fire truck, while the other officers kept the people back. The bearded man with the bullhorn climbed awkwardly down from the truck, panting heavily, and joined them. "Where are the tanks?" he asked, a panicked look in his eyes. "Can you fly everyone out of here?"
"What?" Elizabeth asked.
"Back off, Mayor," the RCMP officer stated sharply, inserting herself between him and Elizabeth. She carried a shotgun over her shoulder, with an unzipped red hunter's vest over her uniform, its pockets bulging with so many shotgun shells they looked ready to rip through the pockets. Her name tag, just visible beneath the red vest, identified her as Trotter. She turned to Elizabeth. "Who are you?" Her gaze went to the assault rifle, the army backpack, and the ammunition bandoleer. "Are you with the army?"
"Not exactly," Elizabeth stated. "What's happened here? Who are you?"
"I'm Constable Trotter, senior officer in charge. If you're not with the army, why are you dressed like that? How did you get a military assault rifle?" The woman's eyes were exhausted and rimmed with red.
Elizabeth hesitated then realized they were far past the task force's operational security. They could jail her later. "I was with a military group, a secret base in the area, but I'm a civilian. We were attacked by a … well, by a monster, a dragon. I escaped and made my way here." If the RCMP officer thought it strange that a dragon had just attacked a secret army base, her face didn't show it.
"You're talking about the Site C dam, aren't you?" Constable Trotter asked. "We knew it was some kind of government site but were ordered to stay away from it. What happened to the others, the soldiers?"
"Gone," Elizabeth said flatly. "I think maybe … maybe they're all dead." Her voice cracked.
"Oh shit. That's not good. We need help. Real help. And we need it now."
"Please, my family is in Fort St. John."
Constable Trotter's eyes flashed with sorrow, and she swayed in place, as if only stubbornness were keeping her on her feet. "I'm sorry. The city is lost, overrun, burning. We couldn't stop them. There were just too many. They started killing everyone, everything, dogs… cats." She looked away quickly, taking a few moments to compose herself. "We held as long as we could. I think a lot of people managed to get away, and I'm sure some hid in the woods … but I … just don't know. Maybe your family got out."
>
Elizabeth nodded, processing this information. She had suspected a dark elf attack on the city but hadn't wanted to admit it. The dark elves had started a war, sending the dragon to destroy the only base in the area before marching their army into Fort St. John. Goddamn them! "Okay," she said, inhaling deeply, trying to cope. "But what's going on here? Why are all these people here?"
"There were almost twenty thousand people in Fort St. John, maybe another five thousand in the surrounding areas, and only the one highway. The bridge is jammed, all lanes. Some idiot tried to climb the center barrier in a semi and got stuck. It'll be hours yet before we get all these people across."
"We don't have hours," said the mayor. "We need to do something now, before those … things march down the highway. They're probably already on their way."
"We don't know that," Constable Trotter said. "Fort St. John is a large city. They may stay there for a while."
"Doing what?"
"I don't know! Looting, whatever monsters do."
"Calm down," said Elizabeth, putting herself between them. "Where are all the other officers? I see only a few here."
"Most died trying to slow down the aliens," said Constable Trotter. "I got away, a handful of others, but…" She sighed heavily, her hands shaking. She shoved them in her pants pockets. "Most of the officers you see here are from the detachment in Dawson Creek to the south. They came to help but only got as far as Taylor. We've set up a roadblock north of town, but—"
"But if you couldn't stop them in the city, you can't stop them here."
Constable Trotter nodded, biting her lower lip. "Not without soldiers—real soldiers. Are you sure someone else didn't get away from this secret base? We really don't know what the hell we're doing."
"I don't—"
She paused midsentence when she felt someone very close by channeling mana. Cassie! It has to be Cassie. Oh, thank God! Maybe she's with others.
She darted past Constable Trotter and the Taylor mayor, seeking the source of the mana use. Whoever was channeling was so close, even Elizabeth could follow it. Her eyes scanned the throngs of people, focusing on the far corner of the community center, near the grassy ballpark. She edged through the crowds, hurrying before the mana-use stopped, vaguely aware the RCMP officer was following her. As she came around the corner of the building, she saw a small group of about a half dozen people dressed like hunters standing beside a mud-stained blue pickup parked on the grass.
Gunz (The Dark Elf War Book 2) Page 11
