Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons

by Doug Dandridge

  [It's too damned dangerous,] said Delgado, piggybacking his weaker mindspeak onto the transmissions of the immortals who all had the most powerful ability outside that of the miraculous wolves they had brought with them. [We can't afford to send all of you into an unsupported attack. You might live for a very long time, and be very hard to kill, but you can be killed. I'm not about to lose an asset like you people on an attack like that.]

  [Who said we would be unsupported?] asked Kurt, another smile on his face, this one of pure joy.

  The transmission ended, leaving Delgado alone with his own thoughts, still staring at the map. If he didn’t push the troops to their limits, a bad idea, it would take more than a month to reach that first river. They would cross many smaller streams along the way, but he didn’t doubt they would take those with ease. After that bridge it was about three weeks to the next river. They should be across and assaulting the city with more than a month to spare if winter came as predicted. If it didn’t? Then he could be facing a Stalingrad type situation on the end of a long supply line that had suddenly become untenable. Even ships might have problems moving from the enormous lake system to the south up the rivers.

  If I push them, I might cut off a week overall, he thought, shaking his head. Then he would have lame and sick men strung out along his path, and exhausted troops trying to make the attack. No, better to stick with the plan. And the city would just have to take care of itself when they got there.

  Chapter One

  Why in the hell won't this bastard work? thought Earnst Grueber, the man they called the wizard. Not that he had any magical powers. No, he had been a top engineer for Mercedes on Earth, and had come up with some technological miracles on this world as well, including the steam cannon. However. for some reason the damned steam engines refused to work, and he couldn't figure out why. After all, water boiled on this world at a reasonable temperature, almost the same as on earth. The steam cannon had proven that enough pressure could be built up to propel a ball with considerable momentum. So what was the problem?

  Grueber walked around his prototype once again. It wasn't full sized. He was not about to waste the time and resources to built a full size one, like would be needed on a train or ship, until he knew the concept worked. He had such high hopes for the engine. Trains, ships, possibly even cars. Tanks? Maybe not armored vehicles as good as those they brought, which had also inexplicably stopped working despite having fuel and electricity in the battery. However, if he could get it working, they could again have an overwhelming force on the battlefield, especially if they used mages in the crews. They would both protect the wizard from most threats, and allow the magic users to shield the vehicle from magic. He might still be able to use Leonardo's plan and build a horse drawn version. But those would be slow and weak, and probably not worth deploying in any numbers.

  "And if I can't get the damn engine to work, all those plans are for nothing."

  There was a knock at the door, and moments later a robed dwarf entered without waiting for an invitation. That still bothered the Germen engineer, who was used to the habits of his own people. But the smiling dwarf was hard to stay angry with, and his presence brought questions to mind.

  "Welcome, Gomli na Snarsa. I'm having some problems here with this engine, and I'm not sure why."

  "And this is the thing that will take the place of those smelly, smoke belching things you brought from your world?" asked the dwarf, a priest of Grimmoire, the god of the mountain dwarves. "Why ever would you want to reinvent such things?"

  "Because they are force multipliers," answered the engineer, shaking his head at the attitudes of so many of the people of this world. "We can use it to move supplies by land and water, in much greater quantities than is currently possible with wagons and sailing vessels. But if the damned thing won't work, then those ideas are stillborn before they start."

  "The gods do not like your machines," said the dwarf with conviction.

  "I thought the queen of the gods was supposed to have had a discussion with them."

  "She can have all the discussions she wants, but that doesn't mean the other gods are going to listen. They all have their own dominions, their own parts of the world that they govern. Then you have the four pantheons, which have gods that might contest each other over certain dominions. My own god, Grimmoire, is not in the same pantheon as Arathonia, though Law sides with Life more often than not. They still don't see eye to eye. Grimmoire has more power over the actual ground, from the surface to the deep mines, than any other. Some of the Ellala and Conyastoya gods have dominion over the soil, but not the dirt and rock under it."

  "And Grimmoire doesn't like the idea of my engine?"

  "He does not. He is the god of smiths and forges, as well as mines and quarries. And he prefers that his people use the powers of their muscles to labor to his glory."

  "And what about the animals that all peoples use?" asked the incredulous German. "Even your own people use beasts of burden, though I have to say they are the most outlandish beasts I've ever heard of."

  "And those animals fall under the dominion of other gods," said the dwarf, frowning and shaking his head.

  "It sounds like a government run by bureaucrats on my world," said Grueber with a frown. "Everyone out for their own little kingdom, their own base of power, all pushing and pulling their own way, and nothing really getting accomplished."

  The dwarf laughed. "That might be true, but unlike humans we are stuck with the deities we have. Or we were, until you came along and brought some of your own gods with you."

  "I never had much use for gods," said the German. "I was raised Lutheran, and attended church most of my life, but it stopped making sense."

  "And now? Have you decided to worship one of ours?"

  "Not yet. It's too confusing for my poor mind. But I would worship one if it would help me to get my engines to work."

  "Perhaps if you tried your engine in another medium," said the dwarf, pulling a pipe from his side pouch and starting the process of loading it with smoking weed.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The god of the water and the goddess of the air are followers of Arathonia," said the dwarf after lighting his pipe. "Perhaps if you tried it on the water, or in the air."

  "Water might be the best place," said the engineer. "I don't have a boat set up to use the engine, but if I can get it to crank up, that will be a start." He looked at the engine one more time, the gears turning in his mind. An idea occurred, and he looked back at the dwarven priest. "Is there any way we can insulate the engine from the influence of your god of the ground?"

  * * *

  “Move out,” yelled out the senior NCO of the company, setting them in motion to follow the next one in line.

  Dieter Klausman shook his head as he stepped out into the steady rhythm of the infantry. I wish I had my Marder, thought the former armored infantryman. Here all they had were horse and wagons, and their feet. There was talk about some coming improvements, but when would they come? Until then they had their feet, and their backs. His back was starting to hurt from day after day of humping forty kilos of gear.

  The gravity was lighter here, so the forty kilos should have amounted to about thirty-seven here. But the army, in its wisdom, had added another three local kilos to the load. Every heavy infantryman had his armor, helm, breast and back plate, greaves, shoulder pads. And of course the large shield and short sword most were armed with. They also carried two javelins on their backs, and a two and a half meter long spear. The spear had a screw in socket on the bottom, and the meter and a half section carried along with the javelins would turn it into a four-meter-long instrument that could serve to repel cavalry. Then there were the canteens, item pouches and entrenching tools the German and American armies had brought to this world. A butt pack held their rations for the day and some other sundries. Each also had sleeping bags, blankets and shelter halves. Those rode on the wagons that accompanied the troops.

  Th
e day heated up quickly, partially due to the exertion of the march. Dust clogged the air, raised by the cavalry and infantry ahead. Dieter pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose, filtering out the dust. He wondered when this nightmare was going to end.

  Only when we beat the bastard we’re at war with, thought the sergeant. When that day came, he was going to quit this trade and do something else. Learn a trade, maybe from the crazy engineer that was working to improve the human condition on this world. But fighting and killing was not something he wanted to keep doing until the day he died. Taking up another trade might make that day extend farther into the future.

  Horsemen rode by, about a hundred light cavalry, moving ahead through the narrow gap they were entering. This was a danger zone, but the sight of buckskin clad elves up on the slopes was comforting. They might not be able to stop a serious attack, but at least they would get a warning that it was coming.

  Dieter envied the horsemen. He knew that riding was tiring to the leg muscles, but at least they weren’t on their feet. They had the ability to ride away from trouble at a rate an infantryman on foot couldn’t match. But when he thought about it, he mostly saw them riding toward trouble, not away.

  His company was of the protected, still worshipping the deity or deities of Earth, what the people here called the Overgod. They were immune to magic, and to the soul eating capacities of some of the more evil creatures on this world. However, being immune to magic meant they also were unable to accept healing. The sergeant thought it a good tradeoff if it kept his soul from going to some of the places these local gods were said to have put the people they did not like.

  They were a combined German and American unit, survivors of other units that had taken heavy casualties attacking enemy positions. Most of the other units were still of one kind or another, with a leavening of locals who had joined the cause. He could hear marching songs from up and down the line. The German songs were more familiar to him, but he loved the humor in the American variety. Both served to distract the mind from the rigors of the march, so both served their purpose. His company wasn’t singing, because their chief NCO hadn’t taken the time to see to it that everyone knew at least a couple of songs.

  Maybe I can approach the first sergeant tonight, thought the German, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Surely he could see the use of keeping us energized on the march? But First Sergeant Heinkle was a strange man, the son of a strict Lutheran minister, who didn’t seem to find anything that didn’t glorify God to be of any use.

  So we learn some German hymns, he thought, liking the idea. After all, even most of the Americans spoke some German, and the natives were picking it up as the preferred language to communicate with the Earth people, since most of the newcomers were German. The first sergeant couldn’t object to that, could he?

  * * *

  “It’s fall, sir,” said Mayor Heinrich Mann, the civilian leader of the valley. The man had been appointed to the job when they had first arrived, and had won the general election soon afterward in a landslide. Probably because no one else had wanted the job. “We need all of our people for the harvest.”

  And it means that our campaigning season will soon be at an end, thought General Zachary Taylor, the commander of NATO forces on this world. Well, not including the French forces that preferred to fight under their own command, while insisting that everyone else fight under theirs.

  Taylor was not about to give command of his people to a man who commanded less than a quarter of the troops he did, even if he had been a three star in his army. Taylor had come over a major general, and had promoted himself to lt. general in order to raise some other officers to two star, so they could command the new divisions they were calling legions. Then he had elevated Delgado, a former colonel, up to three star, and assumed the rank of a full four star himself. Maybe on Earth the promotion wouldn’t stick, but they were never going to make it back to Earth, so the legality didn’t really matter.

  What did matter to Taylor was that a democratic government remained in effect in the lands held by the newcomers. The elves and dwarves kept calling for the Immortal, Kurt von Mannerheim, to be declared king for life, which meant for eternity as far as they were concerned. Taylor had no use for the nobility. He put up with it in the native peoples he had to deal with. Now even the Germans, a people who had a long tradition with aristocracy, were starting lean toward that form of government. And Zachary Taylor would not have it as long as he was in command of the army.

  In a way it would benefit him to keep the troops out in the field, giving him the excuse to exercise overall command. He really couldn’t bring himself to do that, since more of his people would die. So he wanted to get the war over with before he had to shut down the campaign for the winter.

  “Of course you need all of your people for the harvest, Mein Herr. But I cannot afford to bring any of the soldiers back. We still have a lot of gold in the coffers. Why don’t you hire elves and the halflings to work with you?”

  Actually, those people had been working with them, one of the reasons they were bringing in bumper crops. And Taylor still needed the craftsmen he had to aid the dwarves they had hired in forging armor and weapons, including the production of straight spear and arrow shafts. The archers with the army made many of their own, but with the force moving, they needed many more than they could find the time to produce.

  “They need to see to their own harvests, general. We have lost over half of the native workers in the last week. Gold is useful, but not if their own families starve from lack of grain and fruit.”

  Taylor rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment. It was always something. On Earth, he would simply contact higher command and everything he needed would simply appear, right where he needed it. Here it was not quite so simple. There was no arsenal, manufactory or granary across the sea that could ship in everything. They even needed to make their own clothes.

  “Do what you can, and I’ll have our people see if there are any natives along our route of march that might need to be evacuated to safer environs. I can’t see where anyplace could be safer than here.”

  The mayor nodded, got up from his chair, and walked out. Taylor could tell that the man was not satisfied. People might have to go hungry this winter, but there would be no starvation. No one would grow fat from overeating, but that was okay with the trim officer. As long as they had enough energy to work, it would work out. And the next year would be better, especially if they were able to deactivate some of their military units.

  Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you Zachary? There was no guarantee this thing would be over before winter. There was no guarantee that it would be over next year, or the year after. Hitler had kept thinking that during his war, and look where it got him.

  “The forgemaster would like to talk with you, sir,” said his adjutant, a young female captain. That was another difference on this world. On Earth, female soldiers had been phased into combat roles, with mixed results. Here, it was obvious that with few exceptions, they were not strong enough to carry an infantryman’s load.

  “Thank you, Stacy. Send him in.”

  The stocky dwarf that walked into the room had a frown on his face, but then the general could never remember ever seeing a smile on the being’s face.

  “We have a problem, general.”

  What now? “Running out of Mithril? You know we have the funds to buy more, Harros.”

  “No,” said the one point three meter tall male, whose shoulders were almost as wide as he had in height. “We have plenty of Mithril. Or maybe I should say we’re not in danger of running out anytime soon.”

  The dwarf took a seat in the office chair that had been placed there for his kind, with raised seat pads to keep him on level with the humans.

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Your materials,” said Harros na Kolos, one of the greatest forgemasters of the dwarven Kingdom Under the Mountains. His people were the D
imikrin, the mountain dwarves, stronger and with more endurance than the Gimikran, the forest dwelling subspecies. The groups got along well together due to their common heritage, but reproduction between the two people was almost unheard of. “We’re starting to get to the bottom of the barrel with some of them. We have plenty of the tungsten alloy used in your vehicles.”

  Taylor nodded. The dwarves had marveled at the strength and durability of the Earth alloys, used for all light armored vehicles and as a component of tank armor. It wasn’t as strong as Mithril, or the God weapons forged by beings of immense power. They were much stronger and lighter than the fine steel of the elves. The dwarves were still experimenting in adding Mithril to the mix to produce something even better, so far without luck.

  “We need more of the plastics, and especially the foam inserts. We have almost gone through everything in the valley.”

  “We have more outside the valley,” said Taylor. “Vehicles were knocked out all through the area.”

  “Yes, and dragon or wizard fire destroyed much of that. There is still some out there, but we need people to go out and recover it. I don’t have the surplus dwarves to take away from the forges.”

  So, it again came down to people. All of the army supply wagons were busy transporting supplies to the front, and he couldn’t take people away from the harvest.

  “How about we establish a bounty for the locals living outside the valley? Gold for foam and plastics?” Taylor sat silent and thought for a moment, and the forgemaster had interacted with the officer enough to give him his silence.

  “Do you know where there is any petroleum? You know, the thick black substance that comes out of the ground.”

  “We do,” said the dwarf, giving a head nod. “But I understand you use it for the fuel for your vehicles. And Grimmoire will not allow those engines to function.”

  And that’s why I have no love for that particular godling, thought Taylor, who had retained his Methodist faith. As a recovering alcoholic he didn’t touch any of that stuff, which meshed well with his chosen denomination, though he got some strange looks from the natives, who all seemed to ingest as much of the stuff as they could pour down their throats.