The Men of War

by Damon Alan

  “Mordain!” the dwarves shouted as one.

  Irsu looked over at Coragg, who was grinning.

  “We have no idea how many of them there are,” his second said. “What did he say that made you so quick to fight?”

  “The toll to pass is one of us. As dinner,” Irsu replied.

  The grin disappeared quickly. “Mordain!” Coragg shouted.

  “Mordain!” the soldiers responded.

  “Advance, one TWO!” Irsu shouted. The shield wall advanced two steps. “We will advance until we’re out to the zone of light the fire creates. When our night vision returns, we attack,” Irsu told Coragg. “Unless they press matters earlier.”

  “Advance, one TWO!” he shouted again.

  The shield wall inched forward in a process that seemed all too slow.

  A heavy weight slammed into the wall, growling and spitting on the dwarves behind it. Coragg shoved his axe over the top of the wall, piercing a wolf in the throat. The beast fell, whining like any dog would. Numo, who was not part of the shield wall, put a blade through the creature’s eye, into the brain.

  “They’re testing us,” Irsu shouted. “Advance, one TWO!”

  “Mordain!”

  “I wish we had pikes,” Coragg griped.

  “If we survive this, we make some,” Irsu agreed. “Advance, one TWO!”

  Arrows were next. The pack lizards were unprotected, taller than the shield wall, but they had thick hides that might protect them to some degree. The number of pings against the shield wall was telling to how many orcs they faced.

  “Twenty, maybe twenty-four,” Coragg said. “Unless they’re holding back.”

  A pack lizard roared in frustration behind them. One of the arrows must have found it. Hobbled, it couldn’t do anything but protest.

  As Irsu glanced back, Numo was moving to tend to the arrow.

  “Numo, let the beast be,” Irsu ordered. “You’re to kill anything that breaks this line.”

  “Aye,” the scout replied. “If it panics, it could hurt the other beast as well.”

  “Advance, one TWO!” Irsu yelled. Numo had his orders.

  Arrows struck them three times. One soldier took a shaft to the calf, just above his boot. No armor was perfect.

  “Ready bows,” Irsu yelled, grabbing his from the loop over his shoulder. Coragg took a bolt and placed it in Irsu’s bow. The movement was repeated down the line, allowing loading with one hand as the other hands held shields. Now every other dwarf was armed with a shot.

  “Advance, one TWO!” he yelled. After waiting for the warriors to reply Mordain, he continued. “Hand off the shields!”

  This was a dangerous maneuver, if the enemy charged, the line wouldn’t be able to withstand it as one dwarf held two shields.

  “Bows over the top!”

  The shield bearers stooped and lowered the wall. The crossbow wielders took aim down the hall at the green eyes. Now that Irsu could see them, he realized they were backing away. Apparently, they’d not seen a dwarven line before.

  “FIRE!” he yelled.

  Seven bolts fired downrange. It was customary to pick the target most directly in front of the shooter, so Irsu estimated that six, maybe even seven targets were hit. The crossbows were powerful enough that only dwarven armor would stop the bolts. Howls from beasts, the yelps of pain, the swearing of the riders let Irsu know the bolts had found their marks.

  “Andimar!” someone yelled from the darkness ahead.

  “Bows down, full shields,” Irsu yelled as he set his down and took his shield from Coragg. “Axes ready to bite!”

  “Mordain!” the soldiers yelled.

  “Andimar,” sounded again from the other side, then a few seconds later a horde slammed into them.

  Swords and sticks plunged through any hole they found in the wall, nicking a few of Irsu’s soldiers. Nobody said a word that wasn’t needed. The grunts, cries, and sighs of battle were only broken by an occasional growl. The enemy stabbed where they could, Irsu’s soldiers responded with axes, turned around so the pointed haft could be used as a spear, and thrust back through toward the enemy.

  “Blood!” a soldier would yell. If the target fell as the dwarves advanced, Numo dragged the orc through and slit its throat. Blood covered the stone as Orcish lives pumped out onto it. The road would soon be slick with blood at this rate.

  Irsu needed to continue the advance, to keep the enemy unable to build a strong defensive wall and provide secure footing for his soldiers.

  “Advance, one TWO!”

  “Mordain!”

  “AGAIN! Advance, one TWO!”

  The orcs weren’t able to stand up to the sheer strength of the dwarven soldiers. They were being pushed back.

  Suddenly one leapt on top of his peers, then vaulted over the wall. The creature was immediately engaged by Numo, who took a dirty stab to the shoulder from what looked like a wooden knife. Right before he disemboweled the creature with his short sword.

  “Numo is hit,” Irsu said to Coragg. “They’ll try that again. Over and over until they bleed us out.”

  “Half-circle, wall at our backs,” Coragg suggested.

  “That will leave the pack lizards open.”

  “I favor us, not lizards.”

  Coragg was right. “Half-circle on the wall,” Irsu yelled.

  The dwarves cautiously, but quickly. changed their line to a semi-circle facing outward from the wall on the right side of the road. That would foil the leaping tactic for the moment, but it meant that the orcs now had access past their position on the road.

  “Two archers tighten the line,” Irsu commanded.

  Two soldiers, the best archers Irsu had, moved to the center of the arc, reloading and firing as fast as they could.

  Orcish hands grabbed the top of Irsu’s shield, he was unable to find a mark for his axe haft on the other side. A head pushed over the top, and just as Irsu thought the creature might pull him down, a bolt from one of the arches split the beast’s face open. The foul thing fell back into the mass of his brothers, pulled away so another could take his place.

  “This is more than twenty,” Irsu said.

  “I was never good at math,” Coragg shot back. “I’ll apologize after we win this.”

  A dwarf two down the other side of Coragg fell, a spear shaft through his throat. One of the archers sat down his bow, dragged his fallen comrade back, and filled the hole.

  “You’re an optimist,” Irsu said, as he thrust his weapon into an orc. “Maybe you should apologize now so I actually get to hear it.”

  “Pfft. We’ve been in worse. At least these aren’t living dead.”

  Irsu grinned. It was true.

  “We’re not done here,” Irsu growled, as he flipped his axe around, preparing to give the order to break the wall.

  Just that moment a flash that seemed brighter than a hundred suns lit the cavern. Orcs shrieked, and the smell of burning flesh reached Irsu’s nose. While anything that distracted or harmed the orcs was a good thing, the smell of cooking orc wasn’t pleasant.

  The remaining orcs broke and ran screaming, Irsu’s soldiers waited for orders and blinked their light-blinded eyes. Normally he’d order them to take down the fleeing orcs with bows, but nobody could see well enough to shoot. He could barely make out the faces around him.

  At least three dozen spinning balls of blue-hot luminescence raced down the road, so bright that Irsu couldn’t help but involuntarily look. When the spheres hit an orc or a wolf, the creature died, dissolved from the inside out by the blue energy. Each went down to the stone of the road screaming until their lungs disintegrated. Even as their heads rolled away from now missing shoulders the pain was evident on orcish faces. Until the head dissolved as well.

  “Half-circle wall!” Irsu ordered. The dwarves solidified their position, but Irsu knew that whatever had decimated the orcs, they were no match.

  Istarabbusnar appeared around the other side of the wounded pack lizard, carryin
g a still glowing staff.

  “Justice is dispensed,” the gnome said.

  Chapter 32 - Pursuit

  July 27, 1940

  They were being followed. Nelson had no doubts. New dead fell in behind them, creating greater and greater numbers to remind Nelson’s team that south was a way no longer open.

  They’d grabbed a truck, because it was obvious now the deaders knew where they were. Travel was quicker, they covered ground fast, the roads were empty. Despite the noisier mode of travel, and despite the fact the enemy obviously was aware of them, the dead didn’t get too close. There was an unspoken agreement.

  Do what we want, and we’ll not bother to kill your squad. For now.

  New deaders always filed in behind them, replacing the ones the truck left behind.

  “There is no escape,” the deaders told him with their actions.

  Their herders wanted them to go north. He’d been moving his crew north, and toward the coast of the English Channel, with a plan in mind.

  Probably suicidal plan.

  “Honfleur,” he told Gunter. “There is a small bay there, if we can make it to the boats, we can try to cross the channel.”

  “You remember that British destroyer, right?” Gunter said, his voice skeptical.

  “D-48? I do.”

  Unconvinced eyes stared back at Nelson.

  “How common do you think those monsters are in the channel?” Gunter asked.

  “Does it matter? Right now I reckon we’re being herded to captivity of some sort. Or a large feast where we’re the main course. If we get a boat at least we have a chance.”

  Gunter thought a bit in silence as they rode along.

  “You’re right,” he finally agreed. “I just wanted to make sure you knew the choices were a chance at being food or almost certain captivity.”

  “I ain’t surrendering,” Nelson replied. “Whatever they’re herdin’ us north for, it ain’t for our benefit.”

  They drove on through the French countryside, discussing their plan, taking turns driving as the other three rode in the back.

  The maps Nelson had didn’t share much detail about the harbor, but it would almost certainly have smaller boats of some kind. And it was just the five of them now with Connors’ insane betrayal and likely death. They wouldn’t need more than a sailboat.

  A motorboat would be better. With a full tank. It was, judging by his half-worthless map, a hundred miles or so to the south of England.

  Plenty of space for roaming sea monsters.

  They made Honfleur early the next morning, with no indication from the enemy that they were concerned with the course the Americans were taking. It was still north, after all. Once the town was in sight, they made their way into it, heading straight to the harbor.

  “Plenty of boats,” Gunter said.

  “We need to pick one, and fast,” Nelson told the men. As he finished his sentence Billy grabbed his arm. Something Nelson was getting used to. Whatever was wrong with the kid’s voice, it hadn’t addled his brains.

  The giant pointed toward a motorboat on the other side of the harbor, near some apartments overlooking the calm water.

  “Can’t you get one nearer, Billy?”

  Nelson didn’t know if the kid knew anything about boats. It looked like the one he liked was a shiny, rich-kid boat.

  “That’s a runabout,” McKinney said. “Fast, should get that hundred miles past us in about two, two and a half hours.”

  “You puttin’ me on?” Nelson asked.

  “No, Sarge, I’m aware that the monsters are out there too. Billy’s right. That’s the one we want.”

  “Then we better get running before the enemy gets here.”

  They sprinted down to the point of the harbor, and around to the south side. By the time they started west again along the apartment fronts, deaders were spilling past the corners of buildings and moving toward them.

  “They’re onto us,” Gunter said.

  Nelson didn’t have much breath to waste. “You think?”

  They made it to the boat, the dead horde maybe fifty yards behind them.

  “Push off,” Nelson yelled. “Anyone know how to run this thing?”

  The men didn’t answer but threw the mooring lines away and pushed off from the dock. The boat floated away from shore all too slowly.

  Billy sat down in the driver’s seat, but there weren’t any keys.

  “Move over,” McKinney said as he dove under the dash. He ripped wires down and started cutting at them with a pocketknife.

  The dead piled up against the water’s edge, then pressure from behind pushed some off. Those unfortunate enough to be in the front plunged into the water. It looked like the water was about eight feet deep. Despite a deep green color, Nelson could see the tops of heads as the dead slowly walked on the bottom.

  “Hurry, McKinney,” he ordered. “Everyone shoots except you, McKinney. Billy, you be ready to drive.”

  Gunter, Wilcox, and Nelson shot bullets into the heads they could see. Still, it was only a few minutes before hands were scrabbling against the side of the boat trying to find purchase and climb in.

  The engine sparked.

  “More of that,” Gunter barked. “Now.”

  The engine turned over and growled to a start with a deep rumble.

  “Sit down!” Billy roared.

  Everyone did, in the seats that wrapped around the back part of the boat in front of the engine. As the last butt hit the Fabrikoid seats, the boat shot forward like a banshee.

  “Billy, you spoke!” McKinney said.

  The big kid didn’t answer. It would appear he only spoke when it really counted.

  Billy hammered the boat into the channel, as McKinney moved to sit by the usually mute driver.

  “Fuel?” Nelson asked.

  “I don’t know,” McKinney said. “Looks like a thirty-gallon tank maybe… but at least it’s full. We need more than three miles per gallon to make it.”

  “Is that something we can pull off?” Nelson pressed.

  “It’ll be close.”

  Billy made a sign like he was zipping his lip, and the others grew quiet. Nelson had no idea why he was taking orders from a mostly mute giant, but the kid seemed to know what he was doing. Now and then he’d look up at the sun to get a view of where it was and adjust his course slightly. It was early afternoon; the channel was far calmer than Nelson thought it would be. At least considering the wind back on land.

  They were, at last, away from the deaders.

  For now. He didn’t honestly know what shape Britain was in.

  Half an hour later, a creature broke the surface a few hundred yards east of them. A massive snake-like beast, completely different than the one that took out the destroyer and submarine. It flailed out of the water and raced toward the runabout.

  It stayed the same distance behind them. Unable to gain, for now.

  “I think I peed myself,” McKinney announced.

  “Keep your problems to yourself,” Gunter told the private, a sentiment to which Wilcox agreed.

  The creature didn’t give up, however. It breeched the surface behind them, again and again, roaring its displeasure.

  “The tank is at two thirds or so,” McKinney told them, looking inside.

  Everyone looked at Billy.

  The young man smiled. Good enough for Nelson, and it wasn’t like Nelson could make a difference anyway. Nobody here was pissing out any high-octane fuel.

  By the time they spotted the British coast, the creature behind them had vanished. Either by distance or underwater, which was a thought Nelson didn’t like at all. Would it move faster underwater?

  As he questioned the possibilities, he heard a familiar sound. Aircraft.

  Two Spitfires raced overhead, from south to north, the same direction the runabout was moving. Three of the Americans, including Nelson, waved wildly at the planes. There was no way they weren’t seen; the Brits were no more than two hundred feet off
the water. He knew for sure the fighters had seen them when they passed over again, waggling their wings.

  Fifteen minutes later more planes appeared, from the opposite direction, from England. Four Spitfires, and four ungainly monsters. Flying boats, maybe?

  As the aircraft neared the runabout, the new arrivals began flying in expanding circles, as if searching for something.

  A few minutes after that a trashcan like object dropped from one of the flying boats and splashed into the sea behind Nelson’s squad.

  A tremendous uproar of water followed, turning the sea white. Water burst fifty feet into the sky.

  They were bombing the creature. Nelson was right. It moved faster underwater. If the planes were accurate, it was no more than a quarter mile behind.

  McKinney looked into the tank. “Wow.”

  “How much?” Gunter asked.

  “Maybe a gallon.”

  They were still miles from shore. It wasn’t enough.

  The planes concentrated on the area of the sighting. The sea serpent leapt from the water at a plane overhead. As it did so a different Spitfire strafed it. The RAF had learned how to bait the beasts.

  Another geyser of seawater shot toward the sky. If these bombs didn’t kill the monster, then it would get his team. They had to slow down to save fuel if they wanted to reach the coast. So far, their nemesis showed little concern for being shot or being bombed.

  “Sarge,” McKinney said, patting his shoulder.

  He was pointing west.

  A boat was racing toward them, a roostertail of spray behind it. Some sort of military shore patrol, it looked like.

  A flare fell from the sky over the last area the flying boats had bombed, and the second boat raced past them toward that spot.

  Brave souls.

  As it passed under the red smoking flare that was still floating down toward the water, the patrol boat rolled barrels off the back end. Each barrel was released about two hundred feet apart, Nelson estimated.

  The sea erupted. He wasn’t sure the Royal Navy hadn’t blown a hole in the channel floor.

  The boat, now empty of barrels, swung toward the Americans, pulling up alongside at what Nelson estimated must be over thirty knots.

  “Hello, mates! Can you stop for a moment? We mean to take you on board.” The sailor threw a rope over to the runabout so the two boats would stop together.