He did not have to utter a word. The next sacrifice, a man, was carried to the table and strapped down, the dead meat thrown into a chute that fed the scavengers further down. The Emperor still wasn't sure what other use those ghouls might have, but he kept them anyway. The man was sacrificed and the Emperor fed again. Two more followed, and the Emperor almost screamed that it wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't. He would have to have more, but it would have to wait until they had more captives.
He passed by the vampire guard again on the way out when the idea struck him. A way to get more sacrifices, and assure that they were clean of the other dimension's god's influences. He smiled all the way back to his chambers, then sent a messenger to get the Vampire Queen.
* * *
Antwoine McGurk looked up at the bright sun that was sending its heat down onto the road. He grabbed his water bottle, uncorked it, and took a large swig. It was now fall, but the days were still too damned hot, especially for one encased in sixty kilos of steel.
The young colonel missed his Abrams, with its easy rolling motion and air conditioning. At first, he had been placed in the scout forces, the light cavalry, wearing no more than an infantryman while still sitting a horse. Not that a horse was easy. It still wore out the legs and the constant pounding on the buttocks could only be believed through experience. Then the command slot had opened for the first cavalry brigade, three battalions of heavy cavalry, what would have been called knights on Medieval Earth. They weren’t quite the over weighted lummoxes of the late Medieval period. Their armor was a mix of plate and chain, and their weapons didn’t drag on them while they were mounted.
“Well, so far, nothing, sir,” said the sergeant major riding beside him. “At least we’re on the road.”
McGurk nodded. The light cavalry, with their much smaller, much more agile horses, would be riding the flanks, up and down hills and through woods. Meanwhile, the heavies kept to the road, where there was less risk of laming one of their big mounts.
It had been difficult finding the large horses at first. The enemy didn’t use them. But some of the other kingdoms used them for draft animals, and with the gold that had been secured when McGurk’s armored cavalry troop had killed the great wyrm red, they had bought several thousand of them and started training them as warhorses. There were now several thousand mares and enough stallions to service them back in the Refuge valley, and the numbers were steadily increasing, while there were three brigades with the army, for a total of almost ten thousand heavy cavalrymen.
“I hope it stays that way,” said McGurk, looking to the sides of the road. “I don’t like the idea of being hit from the sides on this road. Only an idiot would line up to our front, unless they knew something we didn’t.”
The sergeant major nodded. The older man had been in a ceremonial horse regiment in the US Army in his younger days, before becoming a tanker. He knew exactly what his colonel was thinking.
They both looked up as something screeched above, a shiver of fear running down their spines. Both huffed relief as they saw the pair of silvers flying over. The alliance was mounting a strong air patrol over the army, knowing the damage a couple of reds could do. The only problem was the combat air patrols were spread out along the column and the supply train was coming up from behind, and if the enemy struck, it might be in overwhelming force. They might not make it back out, but that would be little comfort to his charred corps sitting on a broiled mount.
“Let’s go,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. He still wasn’t sure about the idea of riding something with a mind of its own. The horse could panic at anything or nothing, and he would be along for the ride, or lying on the ground. However, it was a weapon, as much as any other he carried, and it was the weapon he had.
Chapter Four
"We're ready for the test, master," said the Ellala who would conn the ship down the stream.
This was the first test of a full-size engine actually attached to a screw on the stern, providing motive power. It had worked with a miniature prototype, propelling a three-meter-long wooden vessel across a small spring that fed a local river. The priests had told him that it was important that the body of water be connected to the sea. He wasn't about to dispute their opinions, since they had grown up and grown to power on this world.
"How's the pressure?" he asked after looking at his watch and seeing that fifteen minutes had passed.
"Not quite up to operating level," answered the human who had been a riverboat captain on the Rhine. It wasn't quite like the diesels he had been used to on that river, but he was the closest thing to an expert that the engineer could find. "Give it another ten minutes."
Grueber didn't want to give it another ten minutes. He wanted the thing to work, so he could get back to work on the manufacturing side, making enough engines to have a small fleet on the rivers and lakes of this world. All the major rivers on this side of the central range of the subcontinent flowed from the chain of large lakes that arose from the snowmelt. That chain of lakes was well over a thousand kilometers long, with much the same volume as the Grand Lakes on Earth. They provided this region with a perfect transport net, one which he was about to exploit.
The whistle went off, and the captain pushed forward the levers that connected to the engine room, letting them know he wanted power. Moments later the ship gave a lurch, then another. The captain spun the wheel, aiming the ship out from the docks and into the current of the large river. The ship built up speed, moving smoothly through the water.
Grueber hurried out of the cabin and ran to the stern of the ship. It was purpose built for this test, and would make a good light cargo ship. Nothing at all like those he planned, which would have triple the capacity of this one. He reached the stern and looked over the back with a smile on his face. There was a noticeable wake behind the ship. Not what one would expect to see on a speedboat, but similar to what he expected from a slow freighter. He ran back to the bridge and stopped beside the captain.
"Are you at full power?"
"Not quite, but not far from it."
"And your estimated speed?"
"I think we're doing about seven knots," said the captain, looking up to the ceiling as if he were doing calculations in his head. "We'll probably get up to nine when we reach full power. Of course, if we're loaded down with cargo we can expect to lose a couple of those knots."
Grueber did his own calculations. A sailing ship could get up to the same speed as this steamship in open water, if the wind was blowing in the proper direction. That could be a problem on a river, where there wasn't enough maneuvering room to tack. They could do it on the lakes, but it would still reduce overall speed to a standstill. A galley could move against the wind, but at most they would make seven knots for a short period of time. The steam engine could keep on working day and night, and would allow the delivery of cargo, or troops, in a quarter of the time of the other means. He thought the general would be happy with that progress. Now all they had to do was provide the ships and the engines.
The boat steamed along for an hour, then turned and headed back. It would drop him off and continue down the river, making a run to the connecting large lake and cruise across it. He needed to know if the engine could work for an extended period.
They passed the shipyard on the way, where humans and elves were constructing five more of the same class of vessel. Other ships, larger, were also taking shape. While he was sure that his engine was not perfected, he was sure he could work out the kinks in the future. Some of the technology of Earth would live again on this world.
* * *
"Everyone take a break," yelled out Kurt von Mannerheim as he rode his horse along the side of the road. The sun was beating down from the sky and the day promised to be a hot one. The infantry was raising a cloud of dust that could be seen for a dozen kilometers or more. Hopefully, the cavalry had taken care of everything that might be able to observe that cloud.
Jackie looked over from her horse wi
th a smile of relief. She was just as strong and tough as he was, but horses were not something she had known before coming here, while he had ridden the beasts of his father every chance he had when younger.
Second division was now his. Since their original commander had been killed in the battle that had broken the back of the Imperial army and Delgado had been promoted to corps command, there had been a need for experienced large unit officers. Kurt had commanded a panzergrenadier battalion in the Second Great War, and though Taylor had resisted the idea, it had finally reached the point of no choice.
The men dropped to the ground on the grass lining the road as soon as they could, pulling canteens from belt pouches. They had marched with helms secured by straps around their necks, head uncovered until they needed the protection. They had carried their large shields on their left arms and a spear over their right shoulder. Overall, they weren't weighed down any more than an infantryman on Earth. Actually, they would have been less so, since the gravity was lighter here. However, someone had decided to add more gear to bring them up to the same load. It was an evenly distributed weight, but the lorica armor, metal reinforced leather skirt, and metal greaves held in the heat. And even the infantrymen from Earth had done most of their movement by vehicle.
"There's a stream up ahead, sir," said one of the cavalry officers of his scout squadron. "We can fill up the water bottles and give the men a lunch break."
Kurt nodded, looking up to the sky as a gold dragon flew over, part of their air cover. They had plenty of water on the supply wagons, but he had learned in the past to fill up whenever he could. You never knew when you might run out and not be able to get more, and a running stream was perfect, since it was unlikely to be poisoned, like so many of the wells they had found along the way. Of course they would test the water. That was something the priests were good for.
"What is that up ahead?"
"It's a burned out village, General," said the cavalry officer. "It's awful. Every man, woman, and child, dead. Livestock slaughtered, crops burned in their fields."
Scorched earth, thought the immortal, staring at the smoke. Worse than what the Russians did. They had not killed their own people. Sure, some had starved when there wasn't enough food for them in the relocation areas. But even Stalin, the evil bastard, hadn't killed his people outright. At least, not like that.
"It looks like the evil bastards are trying to starve us out," continued the officer.
And they just might do it, thought Kurt. Almost half the supplies coming from the rear had been destroyed before they had reached the front line units. If they could cut off enough supplies, the army might have to march back to where supplies could be brought up. If enough were stockpiled for a campaign next year, they could march on and take the capital. But Taylor was having nothing of it, and in a way the big German didn't blame him. He wanted to take out this bastard now, before he killed more people. Not just killed them. He was feeding on the souls of people to feed his desire for immortality. From what the immortal had heard, it didn't just take the life of the person sacrificed, but their soul as well.
It went against any tenant of Earth religion, where a person only paid the ultimate price of eternal punishment if they were guilty. Here the innocent could also face torment, if not eternal, then long enough. From how it had been explained to him by the priests, someone who was sentenced to a hell, or ascended to heaven, would spend a thousand years there, maybe a bit longer. But when it was their time to be reborn, their soul would be jerked out of the pits, or paradise, as the case might be, and brought back to the mortal realm. It seemed too unfair in so many respects. If someone had been a right enough bastard, they should not be returned to the mortal realm. And if they had earned paradise, they should be there forever as well.
He had asked the priests about his people, and they lacked a ready answer. Some thought they would go through the same process as others, their souls in one or the other afterlife until they were ready to be reborn. Others thought that they had no souls, and the other after they would have was oblivion. Kurt had been an atheist for many decades after the war. The things he had seen had been enough to make many a man an unbeliever.
And the damned Ellala bastard who was well on the way to becoming a litch? He was told that the Emperor would live for all time in his rotting body, held together by magic. As long as the heart was preserved in the phylactery that did not have to be attached to his body, he could never be destroyed. Not permanently.As long as that heart was alive, he would reconstitute. He would come back stronger than ever. Which meant they had to destroy the heart as well, or this thing would not be over.
"On your feet," yelled the immortal in German, riding his horse down the road. "We have a bastard to take down, and we're not going to do it sitting on our asses." He repeated himself in English, then in the words of the several native languages he had learned.
The men cursed under their breaths, but were quick to get back to their feet, settling shields on arms and spears over shoulders. Soon they were marching down the road, their NCOs leading them in marching songs. Taylor might not be correct in ordering the army to continue forward. It could add up to a battle as disastrous as Moscow had been for Kurt's army in the Russian Campaign. But the general was in charge, and as long as he was, the immortal would do his best to carry the fight forward.
Chapter Five
"And after a fun day of marching, we get to dig in. Isn't life just fuckin' wonderful in the infantry?"
Dieter nodded his head as he threw a shovelful of dirt onto the pile. It was backbreaking work, but at least they were able to get out of their armor while doing it, and they would not have to pull guard duty tonight.
The dwarves, who were the first to arrive at the campsite due to their stamina on the march, had already done much of the work, and were now at their evening meal. Deiter's battalion, by dint of being one of the first to reach the site, would finish the work and then rest through the night. They would have it almost completely ready when the other brigades came marching in. Since the newcomers would not have done much of the excavation, they would be tasked with providing guards through the night. To Dieter's way of thinking, that was eminently fair, though at the moment it seemed to have some flaws. Like the fatigue he was feeling while shoveling earth. However, a full night's sleep was nothing to sneeze at.
The fortifications they were building were based on the old Roman plans, with earthworks and stakes, turning it into a stronghold if needed. Some changes were needed to fit it to the tactical realities of this world. Dragons were one, and rows of tents set up in the open were an invitation to a strike that could kill thousands. Mages were another, and so the castra was being built under the trees of the dense forest. Positions were being emplaced for the guards to give the camp protection from the ground. A tree could still catch on fire, but burning trees could be outrun, while dragon fire coming down on tents would incinerate them in seconds. Plus, the mages had spells that could extinguish the trees before they became too much of a threat.
They were working on the positions near the edge of the woods. There were openings to either side where wagons were pulled under the trees. Not all of the train would fit, but it was thought better that wagons be burned than the people that used them.
A screech from above caught the attention of everyone working. Bubbuh craned his neck trying to catch sight of the creature.
"It's one of ours," said the sweating man as he swiped at the moisture rolling down his dark face. "Silver."
"Thank God for that," said Dieter.
"I still don't understand why in the hell we have to dig in like this," said Private Tim Humphrey, another American, with freckled skin that seemed to get redder every day. "We fight standing up, you know what I mean?"
Dieter stared at the man who was in his squad, who had not been a combat soldier prior to the transit to this world. Humphrey had been a computer tech in an artillery unit, a specialty that was no longer in existence since t
hey had no computers.
"So, you would rather stand your watch upright, and get cut down by arrows coming in at you?" asked Dieter, shaking his head. He knew that Humphrey had attended the lectures on the strategy and tactics the alliance army was going to adopt on this world. Men in positions could still scan the night, or listen in silence, without making as much noise as moving soldiers, and they would be harder to spot. A very important fact as far as survival was concerned. They could still yell out and everyone on their side would know where they were, while the camp could be awakened.
"Well, we just dig these things for one night, then abandon them. That seems like a real waste, you know what I mean?"
Humphrey also had the annoying habit of adding 'do you know what I mean' to many of his statements. Dieter knew it wasn't something the man did to be purposely annoying to people, but it was annoying nonetheless.
"The units that come up behind us get to use them," said Bubbuh, pointing a finger at the private. "So they aren't really a waste."
"And we have to dig new ones every night because we're at the head of the army. That doesn't seem fair to me, you know what I mean?"
"No one knows what the hell you mean," said Bubbuh, glaring at the lower ranking soldier. "Why don't you just shut up and keep digging. The sooner we're finished, the sooner we can eat and bed down."
Humphrey stared at the sergeant for a moment, but didn't dare open his mouth. Though this battalion wouldn't have to stand watch, there were other jobs that could be assigned, such as preparing food and cleaning the field kitchens in the morning.
They weren't really at the head of the army. That honor belonged to the cavalry brigade attached to this legion, which would be making their own camp about ten kilometers further down the road. It wouldn't be the same type of camp, since they were not that kind of soldiers, and the infantry would march by their position in the morning while they continued to scout ahead, making sure there were no surprises that would catch the slower moving infantry flatfooted. Given sufficient warning, the brigade could close up and present a formidable formation to attacking enemy cavalry or infantry. Without warning, they might just get rolled over.
Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons Page 5
