Chapter 122 - Invasion
A heavier, wider boat came up behind us, and two of the boats moved off the derrick to make room. Even though we were still actively fighting aboard the extractor, a group of igni hauled equipment off the flat-bottom—each with the heavy barrel of a modified reckless rifle cradled in their arms. They climbed up to the top level, avoiding the thickest of the fighting, and got the top of the platform where they began to set up.
Rather than pointing their rifles over at the island, they pointed them up and began firing off charges that burst mid-air after a short delay, taking chunks out of the swarm, and only occasionally hitting one of our own aircraft.
Meanwhile, a wider boat came up from behind us. The heavy, twin-motor barge bumped up against the derrick, and the top hatch opened. Over 100 goblins shrieked out war cries as they began to flow up the outside of the derrick. As they reached the top, they pulled gliders out, unfurled them, and leapt off the top of the platform to catch the wind.
What was left of the elf-controlled swarm of flyers harried them, tearing hide and paper wings and dumping goblins into the water by the handful where they were grabbed by the magic traps the elves had laid and dragged under, or snapped up by croc-knockers. But the majority made the beach, and many of those made it over the perimeter wall and into the keep itself, dropping poppers and firing off rifle shots as they weaved between emerald bursts and swarms of red bugs. A second heavy barge came up, bumping into the stern of the first, and another wave of goblins surged up and mounted the kerosene platform—reserves brought in from Apollo, Canaveral, and the bluffs north of our first two settlements. Builders, engineers, craftsmen, gunners, hunters, and mechanics all joined the attack.
We were a goblin tribe nearly a thousand strong.
Well, nearly 900 strong. The elves had seen Daytona and Huntsville. As far as they knew, that was it. And for that, maybe 5 elves would have been enough if we’d stuck to small night-time raids and search parties. But guerrilla forces don’t hold ground, and they fold when pressured directly by a larger force.
Tribe Apollo now stretched from the swamp to the badlands, and included not just the land, but the air above it. Every location had sleeping mounds producing new goblins daily, and wherever possible I’d optimized conditions for maximum spawning. Individual elves might be powerful spellcasters and able to defeat a few-dozen goblins at a time. But we didn’t have a few dozen goblins. We had hundreds. And each day we could have a hundred more. And it was time the would-be invaders got better acquainted with them.
Beside me, I could tell that my secretive service were itching to join the fight. On the derrick, Armstrong and his scrappers finished off the last of the bewitched creatures and raised a skull-capped banner with a red pennant atop a pole. “Let’s get a little closer,” I said.
My secretive service practically hauled me over to the kerosene platform.
We climbed to the top. The hands and feet of the swarming goblins scrambling up the scaffolding to assault the fortress sounded like a thunderstorm, accompanied by the occasional crack of an airburst mortar from the igni. I found Armstrong, taking a well-earned break with a haunch of croc meat between his teeth, and he grinned around the tough hide. All around him, the scrappers who had stormed the platform were gorging themselves on the elves’ defeated minions. He handed a hunk of greasy meat over.
“I didn’t do much but watch,” I said.
Armstrong swallowed his mouthful and proffered further. “Yer too humble, boss. All this came outta that brain o’ yours. The king ain’t s’posed to do everything hisself, s’why you got us!”
The battle raged on around us, but the elves’ defenses were completely overwhelmed. It was only a matter of time, now. Time and goblins. I looked around. “Where’s Sourtooth?”
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“Went on ahead,” said Armstrong, slurping up a length of entrails. “Had to make sure the lads didn’t eat all the elves. Twix you’n me, boss,” Armstrung stuck out his tongue. “They don’ taste good at all.”
“No?” I asked. If true, it would be the first thing that hadn’t tasted good to goblin taste buds as far as I could tell.
“Like old mud,” he said. “And bitter greens.”
I huffed and shrugged. Maybe some sort of deterrent they actively used to avoid being eaten. “I’ll take your word for it. Come on, we’ve got a swamp king to reinstate.”
* * *
The elves weren’t the only ones shocked by the number of goblins tribe Apollo brought to bear. Nearly a third of the tribe had turned out to retake the swamp fortress, and Ringo was now keenly aware that the forest goblins outnumbered his own boglins by at least 10:1. I’d purposefully obfuscated my true tribe’s size from him, letting him think the bulk were at Huntsville in order to make sure he saw me as a rival and not an existential threat. But as his subjects carried him on a freshly-rebuilt chair through the sea of blue fur blanketing his island and the cacophony of victorious goblins cheering for me, he looked a bit in shock. His eyes were bugged out even more than usual, and for once he stopped barking orders.
I walked on the muddy ground of Daytona Island next to his throne-bearers. The last time I’d been here, it had been as a quasi-prisoner. It had been myself, a captured scrapper, and a few dozen boglins kowtowing to a legless king not even willing to make himself a set of legs to walk on. He didn’t have fire, gliders, balloons, ceramic, or metals. Likely, if not for us, he still wouldn’t. The differences between our two tribes could not be more stark. I’d spent a lot of time pondering why. It wasn’t just the difference in available materials. Ringo might not have had access to clay or dry wood, but he should have still been able to develop fire and bricks. He should have known the physics principles behind hot air rising, raft-making, fishing, and a dozen other simple technologies.
We went up to the keep, where I found a smug Sourtooth holding a small chain connected to a dour-looking elf with a substantial lump on its forehead in the corner, and Ringo struggling back up into his chair. I nodded to the old orc and his prize and then looked back up at Ringo.
“Ringo, when did you come to Rava?”
The boglin king looked down at me, wary. His advisor, George, peered at me around the legs of the chair. “I have always been king, here,” he said.
I nodded. “Ringo is quite a kingly name. You know, there was another Ringo where I’m from.”
“And where is that, King Apollo?”
“Ohio.”
He tried to hide his surprise, but his eyes widened just a touch too much at the mention of my home state.
“He was from this really old band. I think they had this song called I’m a Believer.”
“No! That was The Mon—”
Ringo slapped his hands over his mouth.
“You tricked me!” he hissed.
I nodded.
He looked around at the sea of forest goblins. “Please don’t be mad,” he whispered through his fingers.
“It’s alright, Ringo. Just tell me the truth.”
“That song was by The Monkees…” he admitted. His eyes looked down and away. “My dad really liked them. But I always liked The Beatles best. I’m sorry I lied.”
“It’s ok, you’re not in trouble. How old are you?”
Ringo shifted uneasily in his chair. “I was 10 when I came here. It was my birthday. We were going to pizza and another car didn’t stop when we stopped, and it pushed us in the road. There was a truck… I don’t know how long it’s been since. I tried to count the days, but I kept forgetting. It’s been forever.” He looked up. “Are you really from Ohio?”
“I was. It must have been hard for you, when you got here.”
Ringo nodded. “Things tried to eat me. I found an animal that could talk, like on TV. He said he’d help me, but he tried to trick me. I got away and the boglins saved me and made me their king. They helped me build this fort.”
“You must have been pretty brave to survive,” I said. I patted the side of his chair and sighed. “It was tough when I came here. But I was lucky. I found a talking animal too, but he was friendly and helped me. I knew a lot before I came, and I was able to use that to help the goblins who decided to follow me. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to help you, too.” I held my hand up. “Would you like to team up?”
Ringo reached his hand down but drew it back. “How do I know you’re not mean? You tried to burn me.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know you then. And I’m sorry. I’m an astronaut, though. Are astronauts usually mean?”
Ringo’s eyes bugged. “No way! You’ve been to space?”
I couldn’t help grinning. “I have. I’ve orbited the Earth 32 times. And I was headed to the Moon when I ended up here.” I extended my hand a little more. “We’re going to build rockets at my village to go to this world’s moon. Want to see?”
I reeled back as a barrage of unlocks and notifications and new skills from the job change assaulted my vision.
Holy cow!