Crystal Warriors

by William R. Forstchen

  Ikawa half suspected what would happen. He should leave them and push on; they could serve him by momentarily slowing the pursuit. But a perverse curiosity compelled him to watch.

  The Chinese column swept down around the lone American waving the signal of surrender. The swarming host stopped for a moment. The other Americans were gathered around their fallen plane, waiting, watching.

  Suddenly there was a glint of steel. The American carrying the flag turned and started to run but was overborne by half a dozen men. They forced him to his knees, and a moment later a shower of scarlet washed over his severed bead.

  The captain looked at the sergeant, who smiled sadly.

  "Now they know," the sergeant whispered.

  The bandits let out a shout and advanced towards the plane. The Americans started to run, straight up the hill to where Ikawa was waiting.

  "Captain, shall I open up?"

  "No―order the men to hold their fire. I think this can be useful."

  At that moment the Japanese machine gun on the hill behind them fired a sustained burst. The captain looked back to the opposite hill a hundred yards away and watched as the corporal and his four men picked up the weapon, then ran back down the hill to rejoin them.

  Ikawa watched the enemy sweeping forward, driving the Americans before them. Behind him the enemy was closing in as well. A high, solitary mountain soared up on his right―an impenetrable barrier. He looked closer. Yes, there was a possible way out of this trap, which the bandits had laid long before the Americans had fallen from the sky. There was a narrow defile heading straight into the mountain fastness. Without hesitation Ikawa formed his plan.

  "Sergeant, I want you and four other men to stay with me. Lieutenant Mokaoto, move the rest of my command towards that defile."

  Saluting, the lieutenant barked some quick commands and the rest of the unit started out."Sergeant Saito, let's get ready to greet our new visitors. Fire only on my command."

  The sergeant cradled his machine pistol and waited with the rest, either to shoot the Americans or those behind them. In his mind the two were nearly the same.

  Ikawa could hear them now―their heavy gasping as they came running straight up the slope towards his concealed position. A quarter mile away the Chinese were already closing around the plane. Some of the men were shooting at the Americans and laughing. Bullets hummed through the air, some of them striking the ground around the Americans, driving the fugitives forward. Several Americans were armed with light carbines and two held Thompson submachine guns. They turned occasionally to trade shots with their tormentors, but with no effect. They could have been moving faster, but their progress was slowed by a wounded man who was half-carried, half-dragged by two of his comrades.

  "Get ready, Sergeant, they're almost on us. If they make a move with their weapons, open up."

  "Yes, Captain."

  Ikawa took a deep breath, trying to remember the correct words. He stood up and barked a command.

  "Halt!"

  Mark snapped out of his exhausted stupor.

  "Jesus, a Jap," someone screamed behind him.

  The Japanese officer extended his hands, to show he was weaponless.

  "Don't shoot," the Japanese officer shouted. "My men have you covered."

  He had to decide, he had to decide now. Mark looked over his shoulder. Giorgini was already swinging his carbine around.

  "Giorgini, freeze! Don't move a goddamn inch!"

  "But, Captain..."

  Mark turned back to face Giorgini and started to raise his own .45.

  "Giorgini, if you move, I'll blow your goddamn head off."

  He stared at his men for a moment. They were silent―the only sound was the snapping of the bullets overhead. Gazing beyond his men he saw the swarm of Chinese bandits advancing up the slope.

  Mark looked back at the Japanese officer.

  "Captain, you're trapped. I offer you quarter," Ikawa shouted. "Those men behind you are the soldiers of a renegade warlord. He doesn't care if you're American, Japanese, Nationalist, or Communist. Any outsiders meet death at his hand. You saw what they did to your man."

  "Goddamn it, they killed Ed," Goldberg cried.

  "You've no time, Captain. Surrender and I will give you quarter. If you do not, my men will finish you or leave you to them." The Japanese officer pointed back down the hill to the advancing horde.

  Mark followed his gaze. There was no hope; he had to take the chance.

  "Drop your weapons," Mark cried.

  "But, Captain!"

  "Drop them now!"

  He heard the carbines, Thompsons, and .45s hitting the ground.

  "Good," Ikawa grunted. "Follow Sergeant Saito, he'll show you the way. Now move!"

  Mark looked again at the Japanese officer, and hesitated.

  "Move your men out. Or do you want the bandits to finish you the way they did your comrade?" Ikawa asked softly.

  Ed, damn them, they killed Ed. He looked back at the advancing host, while the air reverberated with the snap-crack of passing bullets.

  "All right, move it," Mark commanded. "Follow their sergeant. Lets go!"

  The Americans fell in behind Sergeant Saito, but Mark stayed behind. Several Japanese soldiers sprinted to pick up the American weapons, then rejoined the retreat.

  Mark fell in at the back of the column, running alongside the Japanese captain.

  The Chinese gave a shout of triumph as their comrades crested the opposite hill. Within seconds a light machine gun opened up on the fugitives, stitching a line of tracers up the slope. A Japanese soldier in front of Mark crumpled with a loud grunt as a bullet ricocheted off a rock and struck his helmet a glancing blow.

  "Nishida!"

  One of the Japanese privates was bent over his stunned comrade, trying to help him up. Mark looked over to his captor. Ikawa yelled at the soldier who had stopped, then ran back to help the private pick up his comrade. Together they started off towards the narrow defile that offered their only hope.

  Mark felt as if his lungs were about to burst. Every breath was an agony of fire. Fifty yards, thirty yards―the machine-gun bullets whined around them. Another Japanese went down, his head smashed like an overripe melon, and the radio on his back a shattered ruin. Overhead there was a sharp crack-whine: The Japanese in the defile were opening up with cover fire.

  He stumbled into the protection of the rocky path where the rest of the men, Japanese and American, were bent in exhaustion. The officer and private finally came in, dragging their dazed comrade and dropping him behind the protection of the rocks.

  The captain shouted some quick orders in Japanese. His men stood, loaded their weapons, and laid down a pattern of fire that slowed the Chinese column. Kochanski came up behind Mark.

  "Damn it, Captain," Kochanski whispered to Mark, "there's less than twenty of them. Once we get out of this scrape they'll finish us off or hand us over for interrogation. Let's jump them while we have a chance."

  As if sensing their conversation, the Japanese officer turned away from the firing line and came up to Mark.

  "Don't even think about it. You're in trouble just as bad as we are."

  Mark eyed his captor closely. He was taller than Mark had expected. His deep-set eyes seemed to look straight into Mark. The officer had a casual, almost relaxed stance, strangely different from the accepted image of an Imperial Army officer.

  "Where did you learn such good English?" Mark asked, "When I first heard you I thought you were one of us."

  "I studied at MIT before the war. My name is Ikawa Yoshio―Captain Ikawa to you."

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  "The Chinese are a renegade band left over from the old civil wars. They cut off my garrison six days ago. I had to pull out, and was trying to withdraw to our lines, but they flanked me this morning. We were being pushed into a pocket when you so conveniently arrived to divert them, giving us the time to gain this defile."

  "Why didn't you just kill us o
r leave us to them?"

  Ikawa looked at Mark for a moment. These Americans were the enemy, the same as the Chinese. Maybe because he was the hunted, and these Americans were the hunted as well... He just couldn't answer that one. Perhaps it was simply that he had lived with them for several years, and in spite of the war he felt an empathy with them.

  He started to turn away.

  "Why?"

  Ikawa looked back at the American. "Captain, you are my prisoner," he said coldly. "If we get out of here, and I truly doubt that, I shall turn you over to army intelligence for whatever information they can get out of you. But for now we are in this together. If your men make any move, I shall execute all of you at once. If you give me your word that there shall be no action against me, I shall treat you honorably."

  Mark nodded his agreement.

  Ikawa went back to the firing line. His lieutenant, Okada Mokaoto, came up to his side.

  "Captain, if I might speak."

  "Yes, Lieutenant."

  "Kill them now. They are the enemy as well."

  "We might need them. I have less than twenty men; we may need these Americans to carry our wounded, or even to fight, if we are to survive,"

  "Captain, don't let it be said that you are soft towards the enemy."

  Ikawa scowled at his lieutenant. "Mokaoto, I don't care if your father is a general," he hissed softly so that no one else could hear. "I am your superior; it is not for you to question my commands."

  Mokaoto glared defiantly. Ikawa could well imagine what would be reported, but he didn't care―he had just about had it with this man who had connections because he was the spoiled son of a general.

  "Captain." Sergeant Saito was peering out towards the enemy line, which had stopped several hundred yards away. "Captain, they're bringing up that captured 37mm cannon."

  The gun had been lost when the garrison was overrun. He knew the enemy had it, but didn't realize they had manhandled it all this way in the pursuit.

  "Mokaoto, have you scouted up that trail yet?" Ikawa pointed up the narrow defile that weaved up into the heart of the mountain.

  "No."

  "As I thought." Ikawa's voice was icy. "Mokaoto, take Sergeant Nobuaki and four men. You are to stay here and delay their advance."

  Mokaoto looked at him with hate-filled eyes. The orders were an invitation to die for the emperor, but he had to obey.

  Mokaoto looked at his men. "Nobuaki, Denzo, Kurosawa, Teruzo, and Takeo."

  Ikawa looked at Mokaoto and said nothing. He knew Mokaoto picked Takeo as revenge. Takeo was the go master of the company, and Ikawa had actually broken the barriers between officer and private during the lonely months of garrison duty to indulge in his favorite game. Takeo had been like a younger brother, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  "The rest of us move out," Ikawa shouted, and started to scramble up the narrow gorge. They had barely gone fifty yards when the first shell screamed in and detonated at the opening to the pass.

  Within minutes the shelling had stopped and a loud shout echoed up from the valley below. They were advancing again. The enemy elevated his range and shells were soon impacting along the walls of the gorge, driving the fugitives onward. After half an hour of steady climbing the party came out onto a small plateau where Ikawa called a brief halt. Far below they could see a serpentine column weaving into the gorge. Ikawa stepped out onto the edge of the plateau and looked up to the towering mountain. His vision could trace the line of the trail as it climbed the slope, and with a cold shudder he realized that the path did not go over the mountain. It simply led into a small canyon surrounded by cliffs. He called Mark over to his side.

  "Do you see where our trail leads?"

  Mark studied the terrain for several minutes. "Once we get to the top of this gorge, we're trapped."

  "Precisely."

  Mark looked at Ikawa as if trying to gauge his reaction to impending death. There was no sign of emotion and Ikawa could only hope that his own fear was not revealed, for he now knew how a condemned prisoner must feel who could measure almost to the minute how much longer he would be alive.

  Chapter 2

  Haven

  Mornan was furious. She could sense that Danuth had given up completely aad was just playing along. The bloody incompetent―she would call him to account later. The others had found nothing.

  "Open up your search," she hissed. "Go farther out. Centra, you're supposed to be good with symbolic matching―do a broader scan for large-winged forms. And feed your sensory returns to us all."

  "Danuth, you damned fool, go to the outer edge of the Void and see if there are any demons feeding at the focal points."

  Masters! The thought whispered through them. It was the apprentice. I've found the image of a large winged beast―and his mind flashed an image of a dragonlike creature―and I read a score or more lifeforms nearby.

  The boy wasn't supposed to be trying―he might misread the shadowy images from other realms―but Mornan could not chastise him now. If he had found something, she would use it. Groaning with effort, Mornan tried to sustain her barrier to prevent Allic's detection of them, but the power created by their spell was leaking through in several places. An alert watcher could pick them up at any time.

  "Quickly, Danuth, work with whatever the boy has found. Try to lure them near the portal."

  "But I've found four small demons at the Void's edge in another plane."

  "Pass them over to Centra. Open up that portal the boy has found and see what it is."

  She felt a shudder run through the shielding. Something was probing them.

  "Danuth, we've been scanned. Get that portal open and bring them through as quickly as you can!"

  * * * *

  China

  While the long shadows of evening were reaching across the land, the exhausted, bedraggled party inched its way into the canyon. Their retreat was counterpointed by the echoing crack of rifle fire. Mokaoto's rear guard was still in action.

  Ikawa and Mark drove their men onward. Every minute was precious if they were to reach the canyon in time to fortify their position.

  As the sun lit the far horizon with a blazing crimson, the trail suddenly opened into a smooth stone-paved path that cut straight into the mountainside. The overhanging cliffs caught the evening glow, so that the mountain seemed to be washed in the color of blood.

  The men gathered around their two leaders, seeking orders and some small comfort in their final moments.

  Below, the sound of small arms fire grew louder, and suddenly from around a bend in the gorge a Japanese soldier came into view.

  "Denzo!" someone shouted.

  A sergeant appeared next, and with labored breath they came up the slope, shouting that the enemy was not far behind.

  A flurry of activity greeted this announcement. Kraut and Kochanski called for help in moving several boulders across the trail to provide some cover. Mark came alongside and put his shoulder against the stone. He looked up for a moment and saw that Ikawa was still looking into the dark passage.

  Calling for Welsh and Goldberg to help with the barrier, Mark went over to Ikawa.

  "You're not thinking of going in there, are you?" Mark asked.

  "We have to check it out. The position might be better in there. I feel as though we've been drawn to this place, and there will be protection in there."

  "That's crazy―it's a dead end. At least out here we can die in the open."

  "Are you so eager to die?"

  "I thought you bastards were the ones who wanted to be killed for your emperor."

  "Only when necessary, Captain, only when necessary. Are you coming?"

  Ikawa drew his pistol and started into the dark passage. Mark, seeing that the others were watching, realized that in spile of his misgivings he had to go along, or appear a coward. There was something strange about this place―a feeling that reminded him of the air before a storm.

  Pushing aside his concern he started i
n. Soon they were wrapped in darkness, the only light the thin sliver of sky and the blood-red evening left behind.

  "Notice this is paved. The stonework is superb. Whoever built this did so with loving attention."

  Mark was silent. He didn't give a damn about the stonework―he just wanted to check this claustrophobic nightmare and get back out.

  "There must be something back here. They wouldn't have built this passage into the mountain for nothing. Look, the path turns." Ikawa rushed ahead, then disappeared to the right.

  Mark hurried after him, and came up short as he turned the corner, and bumped into Ikawa.

  They followed the path for another twenty yards, until it opened into a small courtyard fifty yards across. Sheer cliffs rose hundreds of feet on all sides. Overhead, the crimson-streaked sky gave off a soft glow that reflected down onto a small, pentagon-shaped temple.

  "Wondrous, absolutely wondrous," Ikawa whispered, stepping forward as if onto sacred ground.

  From back down the pathway came the echo of gunfire. Mark, awakening from the awe of such a sight, rushed past Ikawa to the doorway of the temple.

  The heavy oak door glided back noiselessly. There was an eerie, unearthly feel to the place; Mark felt as if he was treading through some remote past. The evening light streamed in behind him and he quickly surveyed the single large room that was covered in a layer of dust. The windows were narrow slits in the stone walls that formed the structure. It was better than a pillbox!

  Turning, he started out of the temple, brushing past Ikawa who stood enraptured in the doorway.

  Sprinting across the courtyard into the tunnel, Mark raced down the narrow pathway back out towards the light. The sound of gunfire rolled up louder, and reaching the edge of the path, he crouched down low and came up alongside his men.