The wizard working the scrying ball waved her hands and it projected an image overhead. The ships approaching them were all of a kind, sailing vessels capable of going across the lakes or down the major rivers, weighing about twelve hundred tons each, with twin catapults mounted on a forecastle and a pair of masts holding three sails each. They wouldn't have been out of place in eleventh century Earth, and had probably been the terror of these lakes in their day.
Their day is over, the commodore thought as he studied them closely. He glanced over at the captain, wondering when the man would order his forward guns to open fire. He refrained from giving the order himself. After all, this was Kelliosos' ship.
"Fire as they bear," shouted the captain, his command echoed as it reached down to the gun deck.
The forward guns fired one after the other in quick succession. They didn't go off with a roar or the crump of an Earthly gun, but with more of a popping hiss. It was still loud, almost deafening. but it wasn't gunpowder, which didn't perform on this world. Instead, a gem of magical power was shattered by the trigger and superheated the water in the compression chamber, sending the ball out at high speed. At first Hauser hadn't been sure the idea was workable, but the army had proven it in the field with smaller guns, and his own people had practiced with them until they could get off two shots a minute. That was up to the standard of the pre-steam Royal Navy, and nothing to sneeze at.
The first shots hit the water to the front and port of the middle ship. Hannover fired moments later, missing as well. Washington got off her two shots, one raising a plume of water into the air, the other hitting her target in a crash of splintering wood. Splinters flew through the air, the shrapnel that could cut down the crews on those ships.
The ships continued to close. The catapults fired on the enemy ships, sending balls of fire at the ironclads. Arrows rose into the air and arched down. The catapult balls hit the armor and slid off, or stuck while they burned, and none did anything to the wood under the armor. Same with the arrows, hitting the hull, or the shields of embarked soldiers.
The guns barked again, and this time New Berlin got a hit, her ball hitting the bow and bursting up through the deck. Hannover missed again, while Washington got a second hit.
"Helm, ninety degrees to port!" yelled out the captain.
The helmsman spun the wheel, turning the starboard side of the ship toward the enemy. The commodore approved of that decision, and looking out of the side panel he saw the ship on that side was doing the same.
The ten guns opened in sequence, sending a broadside into the enemy, walking the balls along into the bow of the opposing vessel. Six shots hit and plowed through the bow, blowing splinters from the deck as they penetrated from front to rear, the classic crossing the T shot. The other ships fired moments later, and both got hits.
A mage-launched fireball came at New Berlin, causing Hauser to cringe as it grew closer, waiting for the explosion of flame that would take out the bridge. He recalled in a fast flashback what mages had done to tanks with the best armor that humanity could make. The fireball hit the mage-erected barrier before it struck, flashing, splashing, and then falling away, though the shield weakened with the strike.
All the ships fired again as they bore, sending their balls out into the enemy vessels. One lost a mast as it cracked off below deck and leaned until it fell over the vessel, creating a drag that pulled the ship around in a circle.
"Ninety degrees to starboard!" shouted the captain, and the helmsman spun the wheel back the other way.
Two of the six ships were starting to list: one was missing two masts, the other one. A couple of fireballs came out to strike the human ships, followed by some catapult balls. The fireballs that made it through the shield burst on the armor and burned for a dozen seconds, failing to penetrate the steel, and Hauser breathed a sigh a relief. The ships fired their forward guns again, then pulled them in and closed their ports, retiring them from this part of the fight.
The enemy ships that were still making way were crowded with crew, lined up around the side with weapons ready, to either board or repel. One got in the way of Hannover, whose ram sliced into the wooden bow of the ship and threw her aside to start sinking. The ironclads fired their broadsides, taking on ships to both sides. Some of the balls flew through the wooden hulls and struck the armored hulls of sister ironclads, merely bouncing away.
As the ships drove through they left three enemy ships sinking in the wake, while the other three were severely damaged.
"Should we keep going, sir?" asked the captain.
"You will come about, Captain. I want those two remaining ships sent to the bottom."
If they were left to their own devices they might make repairs, and there would be cargo ships coming along this route soon after. He didn't intend to leave these raptors behind. It might cost them an hour getting to their target, but that was something he could live with.
* * *
The march went on, but no one in the reduced company was as relaxed as they had been. The enemy had proven that they were ready, willing and able to raid at any time, day or night. They had been hitting hard since the army had gotten over the last large river. Dieter's unit had not been hit again, but several other brigades had been struck hard. The army had been forced to pull in the cavalry patrols to reinforce the columns. But the enemy seemed to have learned as well, and it appeared they weren't quite as enthusiastic about attacking the infantry as they had been.
Everyone was now wearing their helmets all through the march, unlike before when comfort was more important. The helmets had been forged by the dwarves from the aluminum of military vehicles and aircraft, covered with a thin layer of high-strength steel, and padded inside with the foam taken from the numerous seats that had come across with military and civilian vehicles. They were shaped more like American football helmets than the original Roman type, and were more likely to allow a sword or arrow to glance off rather than penetrate. The pull-down visors were left up. The other thing different from the original were the shoulder pads, that looked much like the pads worn by football players, with the addition of panels down the upper area of the outer biceps/triceps. The shields were also a composite of Earth made and native materials, lighter than a wooden shield, but much tougher. Sometimes they were carried across the back, but not after the attacks. Now they were strapped to the left arm, and the soldier was able to grab the strap of his web gear and hold it up more easily.
All of the men carried their two and a half meter spears with a meter long section screwed on, giving them a three and a half meter weapon, almost eleven and a half feet in the measurements of the Americans. Straps were attached to the shaft, so that the men could carry them much like a rifle, not quite as handily, but still easier than holding it slanted over the shoulder. Fortunately for the troops, a lot of nylon equipment came over with the people who were carrying them, so every soldier had web gear with pouches for rations and canteens, and attachment points for weapons' sheaths. They were a strange combination of ancient and modern, but they were the best combination the minds of the natives and newcomers could come up with, and it made them the best-equipped infantry on the planet.
"Will you look at that," said Humphrey, turning his head to watch three animals trotting by the side of the road, heading to the front of the army.
"First time you've seen the wolves?" asked Dieter, a smile on his face. Bubbuh wasn't in the column. The big sergeant was again riding in a wagon since his leg wound had reopened, and required more healing.
"I've heard of them," said Humphrey, his eyes locked on the lead wolf, the largest of the group, with white paws rising above the grass as he walked.
There were five wolves in the group: the large male who had to have weighed just under a hundred kilograms, a slightly smaller male, and three that had the gangly looks of almost adult pups. Dieter knew the story behind the beasts. They had been engineered by Dr. Vogel Kreigle, a German geneticist who had been trying to deve
lop a more intelligent variety of canine. The scientist had gone for plains wolf size, an extinct canine, in order to allow for a larger brain cavity and thus, a larger brain. Judging by the bulge of their craniums, it looked like it had succeeded. He had heard that they had been as smart as dolphins on Earth. On Refuge they had exhibited mental abilities beyond those of the most powerful hominids. Now the alliance was on a mission to breed as many of the creatures as they could, considering them a force multiplier.
Well hello there, thought Dieter, who had a modicum of mindspeak himself, though not enough for consideration as a com expert.
The largest wolf stopped and looked his way, followed by the heads of the other four. The sergeant felt a tingle run up his spine, as if the creatures were checking out his mind. Then they turned and were off again.
"And I bet we don't see anything like that today," said Humphrey. "You know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean," Dieter said with a smile. At least he could hope that was the most noteworthy thing he would see this day, since most of the noteworthy things on this world could turn out to be horrors.
Half an hour later another noteworthy event happened, one that dropped seeing the wolves down to second place.
"Is that them?" asked Humphrey, who was now in the formation beside the German sergeant, who was in charge of the revamped squad after battle losses.
Six large horses rode along the side of the road. Each had a human riding on it, and all of them had on fine armor. The leading male, a giant with blond hair, wore plate armor, as did the sandy-haired man who was even larger. One of the people was thinner, with black hair, and another was of average height, but was as muscular as the two giants were. There were two tall women riding with them. One with classic features and skin of brown, much lighter than Bubbuh's, though Dieter understood that she came from the American sergeant’s home state. The other was a fair-skinned beauty with sapphire eyes.
The troops started cheering as they saw the sextet, the mightiest warriors in the army. On Earth they would be superbeings, or superheros. Here they were even more powerful, with mental powers as great as any known, unprecedented healing powers, and the same immunity to magic as the protected. They had saved the army’s bacon back at the last bridge when the hell creatures had come.
All of the immortals raised their hands into the air and waved to the soldiers.
"Kurt. Kurt. Kurt," yelled the soldiers. He was one of their own in many ways, from Earth and from a Western country, having lived in modern Europe. But he was different in many ways as well, having fought in a war that had very few survivors, all the rest without the immortal trait taken out by age. Izabella Kozlowski was even older, and the Jewish man, Ismael Levine was the oldest of all. There were several other people riding with them, all priests and mages. And Kurt had been proclaimed the prophesied savior of the people of this planet. Here to rescue them from the evil gods and their worshipers who wanted to subjugate all others.
They were soon out of sight, riding toward the very front of the army. Dieter was sure that would be the last fantastic thing they would see this day, at least one that wasn't trying to kill them.
"It's the bards," yelled out a soldier in the company behind. The four horses rode by, followed by several more that were leading pack mules full of equipment.
The bards had also been instrumental in the bridge battle, the magical quality of their music having caused severe discomfort to the demons.
"Maybe we'll have another concert tonight," said Humphrey, smiling.
"And yes, I know what you mean," said Dieter, cutting him off before he could make his signature pronouncement.
* * *
'Well, the soldiers seem to be in fine spirits today," said Kurt, raising a hand and waving to another company. He still had trouble looking at the infantry armor without a short laugh. To him they looked like something from a post-apocalyptic movie on Earth, but it seemed to work.
"You have to enjoy life while you have it," said Jackie, frowning. "They've got to take their pleasure while they can."
"Why so morose today, liebschen?" he asked the woman who was his lover.
"I keep thinking of that poor Ellala priestess," she said, shaking her head. "We took her fiance' off on a quest, and he was the only one of us that didn't come back. I don't think I've ever seen someone hit so hard by the death of a lover."
"And how would you feel if I died?" asked Kurt.
"She would find solace in my arms, my friend," said Gregor Babich in his heavy accent.
Izabella slammed her fist into his shoulder, and he laughed. The two were lovers, and the flare of exasperation colored her eyes.
Kurt laughed, earning a dirty look from Jackie.
"There is no way you're going to die," said Jackie, shaking her head, "unless I'm the one to kill you. And there's no way you're going to die. We're immortal."
"I wish that were true, my dear," said Levine, a frown on his face. "I have met some of our kind through the ages, very few. Some went away and I have no knowledge what happened to them. Perhaps some are on this world, perhaps not. But I know of the deaths of two of our kind. One burned to death, one who starved when she was trapped in an avalanche."
"So as long as we keep from being burned to death, and have a source of nourishment, we are safe?" asked Paul in his rumbling basso voice.
The Brit, the former executive officer of the Sherwood Foresters of the British Army on the Rhine, was the second youngest of the immortals, and the largest. Not the strongest, since age brought on greater strength in their kind, much as it did in crocodiles. Levine was actually the strongest of them, with his two thousand years of life. Izabella at almost three hundred years was about of equal strength to Kurt, despite being two fifths of his mass.
"Those are only the means I know about," Levine said in a cautioning voice. "I can think of other ways we could die. I'm not sure what happens if we lose our heads. The head can't grow another body, even if it could survive without the other organs long term. If the body could grow a new head. It wouldn't be you. And what about drowning, or other means of asphyxiation? Don't ever believe we are truly immortal, my boy. Nothing is eternal, not even the universe."
"Well, that's one way to ruin my mood," said the Brit with a short laugh.
"Well, Leinora" said Kurt, looking back at the Conyastoya priestess who rode with them, an ever youthful woman who had proclaimed that she was over fifteen hundred years old. "Do you think we are truly immortal, from the standpoint of a people who live more than twenty times longer than the general members of my race?"
High Priestess Colonel Glassadora, a powerful healer and the chief medical officer of the first legion, frowned for a moment before speaking. "I can't say that you are," she finally said. "General Levine is not even as old as our eldest leaders, but he has the aura of someone who will live a long long time. I can see no end to his existence in his binding energy, that which holds his life force to his body. The same with you, Lord Kurt. Humans have weak binding energy, dwarves more, and all of the races of elves so much more. None approach your projected lifespan, but can you die? I believe that anything can die, and I have to salute the courage of a being that could possibly live for a million years in putting that life span at risk."
"I wouldn't know what else to do," said Gregor. "I was a soldier of my people. I fought for them, and I will fight for those I am with now."
"And your bloody people started the bloody war that sent us here," growled Paul, glaring back at the Russian. "If not for you, we wouldn't be here."
"I did not fire the first atomic weapon, my friend," said Babich, his eyes narrowing. "That was the fault of your American friends."
"And we did not fire first," said Jackie. "It has always been the policy of the United States to not use nuclear weapons first."
"Hah! Tell that to the Japanese."
"Easy, my friends," said Kurt, motioning downward with his hands. "If there is anyone you should be angry at, it is me
and my people, my Russian friend. After all, over thirty million of your people died in my war, and millions of my own."
"That is ancient history, Kurt," said Gregor, shaking his head. "They might be my ancestors, but they are not people I know. Unlike the people in my homeland who were incinerated by NATO warheads."
"It's all ancient history," said Levine, looking from face to face, turning in his saddle to make sure he made eye contact with everyone. "We are no longer on that world, and everyone there, living or dead, is lost to us. Unless they happen to come over, in which case they are in the same fix we find ourselves in. We have an enemy in front of us that requires all of our attention, and we can't afford to fight among ourselves."
"Besides," said Paul with a tight smile. "I didn't launch any of the weapons, and neither did Jackie. And I seriously doubt Gregor pushed any buttons on his side."
"I was an infantryman," said the Russian. "I had control of my company, and all of the weapons we carried, and that was all."
"I think you are all crazy," said the dwarven warpriest Garios na Gonron, looking decidedly uncomfortable on horseback. "Throwing around weapons that can kill millions in one blast, like the two you used here."
"You have to admit, they were to our advantage," said Paul.
"Yes, but at what cost to the soul? They angered the gods."
"Because your gods are jealous children," said Jackie, pointing a finger at the dwarf, "who want to keep all the power in their own hands."
"And yours isn't?" growled the priest. "I have read the holy book of your people, and I would not want to worship that god."
"All of this is bullshit," said the Archmage Colonel James Drake, one of the most brilliant of the newcomers, with graduate work in physics and natural power as a firemage. "None of this matters. What matters is that we have a bastard that wants the souls of all of our people for his own use, and we need to stop him. Nothing else matters."
Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons Page 18
