“Medivac’s here!”
Rinn looked up when he heard the thundering whirl of the “Viper Cobras” that had been flying overhead. Coming in low, with a roar and a heavy gust of air, was a fatter contraption, this one with a wide-open bay in the middle. Less than a tail off the ground, it spun sideways to present an open door before setting down with a slight bump. A Marine jumped out and started directing the other Marines as they helped their wounded onto the craft.
The machine was terribly loud and threw a constant wind. This close, Rinn realized that the wind was generated by a set of great blades that spun so fast they were a blur. He stayed right next to Bradford.
When the last of their wounded and dead were loaded on, the surviving squad members stepped back and the Marine who rode the medivac in hopped back on. With a roar and a fresh gust of wind, the contraption lifted off, swung around, and thundered off into the distance.
Bradford continued to watch it go as the tall, ebony-skinned human walked over. “He gonna make it, Doc?”
“He lost a lot of blood, but I think so, Jabs, thanks to you.”
She glanced at him, and Rinn was impressed with how much her expression could communicate without ears.
“His femoral artery was shredded,” Doc continued. “If you hadn’t put that tourniquet on as quickly as you did, he might not have made it.”
“Yeah, but he’ll still need a prosthetic.”
“Maybe. I’ve seen worse amputations get reattached. We’re also maybe twenty minutes flight from three major trauma centers in down-town San Diego. His left leg will probably be a bit shorter for the rest of his life, but they have a good chance of saving it.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Bradford said as he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and continued on.
Rinn flicked his ears in amazed disbelief. He had seen many similar wounds, and they were often fatal. Even if the soldier survived, he would often succumb to infection. They talk as if infection were not even a concern! And how can they reattach a limb that has been torn completely off?!
Bradford gave a final nod in the direction of the disappearing medivac, then turned to the rest of her squad. “Alright, Marines, let’s get up that hill with the rest of the battalion. Dubois, Stephens, take point. Two Five!”
“RETREAT, HELL!”
“Move out!”
The Marines headed up the hill, falling into a loose formation, weapons up. Rinn stuck to Bradford’s side, his own stave held at the ready.
As they moved into the kill zone, Rinn’s stave slowly dropped to trail at his side. Where half a cohort of elves had stood just moments before was now a gruesome hellscape. The ground was pock-marked with hundreds of little craters. What was left of the elves were scattered in pieces across them, and the grass was slick with blood and offal. Torsos were exploded. Elven plate armor was rent clean through, front and back.
The destruction was both awesome, and terrifying. I wish we had this firepower years ago… And I hope we never have to face it…
They found no survivors.
Half-way up the hill, the elves resumed their artillery fire. Orders were shouted, and the carriages and tanks pulled back behind the peak of the rise. Marines broke out trenching tools, and began digging.
As Bradford and her squad jogged up to the top of the hill, Rinn marveled at their ability to set such a pace while carrying so much weight. Bradford had nearly squished him when she covered him with her own body.
At first, he had been offended by the effort to shield him, but the walk past the obliterated ambush made it quite clear that his armor was no match for these humans’ weapons.
“Nice of your squad to join us, Corporal.”
Rinn turned to find a Marine approaching them who exuded authority. “Oh, shit, it’s the new XO,” he heard someone mutter.
“Sorry about that, Ma’am, we ran into a flat tire.”
Spotting this new Marine, Gomez snapped to attention and started bringing his right arm up, but before he could get it half-way up, Kawalski grabbed his wrist and yanked it down. “Are you trying to get the Major fucking killed? No saluting in a goddamn combat zone, you fucking jackwagon!” He threw Gomez’s wrist down in disgust, while the young Marine’s skin turned pale. “Now go get me more ammo, Lucy’s hungry! And double the load you carry, you goddamn, fucking boot!”
Rinn suddenly found himself glad that he had only just started to bow to this “Major,” who was obviously a noble of some sort, and apparently also a woman.
He is still reeling at women going to war, and now commanding armies, but decided that it is wiser to ignore that for now.
The Major ignored the dressing down as if it hadn’t even happened. “That’s one hell of an understatement, Corporal. You call for that airstrike?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“Outstanding job, and damn fine quick thinking. If you hadn’t spotted that ambush and called in the ‘hogs, we’d be in a world of hurt right now.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but most of the credit goes to the Second Artificer, here.” She gestured at Rinn. “This is Second Artificer Ahyat. Ahyat, this is Major Winters, our Battalion XO.”
Winters gave him a nod, and he struggled to keep his tail from curling in discomfort.
“Ahyat is the one who realized why the elves had stopped firing their big guns, and it was his magic that neutralized whatever invisibility spell they had going. He also put up some kind of shield to protect the squad while we called in the airstrike. If not for him, we’d all be dead.”
Kawalski apparently felt the need to chime in. “Look what followed us home, mom! Can we keep him?”
Winters ignored Kawalski, again. “Then it sounds like the whole damn battalion owes you their lives, Second Artificer. Damn fine work.”
Rinn flicked his ears down, shuffling awkwardly, and kept his eyes low, unsure of how to respond to this kind of attention.
“He was also able to give us some intel on that artillery, Ma’am,” Bradford continued. “Their maximum range is about seven hundred meters. Max effective is about five hundred, and they can’t move fast while they’re putting up that shield.”
“That matches what we’ve seen,” Winters nodded.
“Rate of fire is uncertain, but they’ve got some kind of high mage type on them, and he channels power from some combination of other mages, mana crystals, or prisoners, ma’am. They use them like living batteries.” Bradford scowled.
“Jesus. They’re just kicking the dog left and right, aren’t they?” Winters asked.
“Say again, ma’am?” Bradford asked.
“Literary reference,” she said, waiving her hand in dismissal. Bradford seemed to understand, but Rinn found the explanation to be insufficient. “Noted on the ranges.”
She paused, looking Rinn up and down. His tail wriggled awkwardly. “Second Artificer, you’re the only keshmin who has advanced with us to the hill. Some of your buddies rallied with us when we joined the fight, but none of them advanced with us. That makes you the senior most member of the Ganlin army present. Until your commanders see fit to provide me with an official replacement, you are now my local advisor.”
Rinn’s ears and tail popped straight up, and he had to adjust the mickey mouses to keep them from falling off. What?!
“Bradford, you’re the liaison, and the rest of your squad is his escort. He’s the only source of intel I have right now, and the only way we have of spotting those bastards if they try to pull their damned invisibility trick again. I don’t want him tripping under a tank tread or walking into a magic ray gun blast.”
“Aye aye, ma’am!”
“Walk with me,” she said, and turned away. Rinn and Bradford exchanged a glance. Bradford shrugged at him, and they quickly followed. “We don’t have the numbers nor the melee capability to push into the main elven force. We’ve got two-five, maybe a company’s worth of tag-alongs we’ve picked up along the way, and two armor platoons. We’ve got reinforcements on the way, but if they swarm us, we’re done. There’s tens of thousands of them down there.”
“Over forty thousand, your grace,” Rinn confirmed. “The elves crossed the river with eight full legions.”
“No need to “your grace” me, Second Artificer,” Winters laughed. “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn. Major or ma’am is fine.”
“Yes… ma’am,” Rinn replied. These humans are so confusing.
“Anyway, that big shield they’ve got is holding up against what we’ve been able to throw at it so far.” They reached the crest of the hill, crouching low, and Winters peaked over the edge to observe and point at the enemy forces. “Those shields don’t move fast, though. Anything that wants to come at us quick has to come out of that shield, where we can light them the fuck up. Otherwise they’re stuck crawling towards us at a snail’s pace.” She turned back to Bradford and Rinn. “The plan is to hold here on this hill. It’s not much, but it is the high ground. We dig in, get hull down, and force them to all turtle up under that shield, and come at us nice and slow.”
“That’s exactly what they’ll do,” Rinn said, shouting over the sound of godhammers and other heavy weapons. “Any time we are able to mass artillery against them, they form under their shield and make a dread march towards us.”
“Excellent! That’s exactly where we want them!” She gestured towards the conspicuously empty skies. A heavy shardblast struck close, and they ducked as dirt rained onto them. “Air support is bingo on munitions, but more is on its way. Eleventh Marine’s managed to get two battalions of em-tripple-sevens and their high-mars battalion trucked through the portal and are nearly set up at FOB Tolkien, and the Air Force has a flight of B1s from the 9th Bomber Squadron en route from Dyess.”
She pointed back at the rallying elven legions. “Once the arty’s set up, they’re going to rain unholy hell down on those bastards, and if that’s not enough to crack their shield and lay them flat, the flyboys will carpet-bomb the ever-living shit out of them.”
As if on cue, the familiar whirling thunder of the Viper Cobras roared overhead, spitting smoke and fire. Explosions and impacts rippled across the elven shields, but they held, unperturbed.
Four of the Viper Cobras circled around the elves while another pair of “hogs” trumpeted their distinctive battlecry, pouring a staccato of death into the shield. Another spellshard thumped into the ground ahead of them, obscuring their vision with a tower of dirt and clod. “Let’s step back from the ridge,” Winters shouted as one of the tanks rolled up and thumped it’s godhammer before rolling back below the hillcrest. “It’s a little quieter!” Another godhammer thumped, spitting fire at the elven legions.
“Aye, ma’am!” Bradford agreed.
As they were turning to leave, Rinn saw a spellshard pulse into the sky and slam into the tail of a Viper Cobra. The explosion obliterated the tail, shattered the big spinning blades, and heaved the shard-riddled main body through the air. What remained of it immediately started spinning and tumbling to the ground. The broken wreck slammed into the ground and exploded in a great fireball.
“Shit!” Winters cursed, sprinting back to her carriage. “MEYERS! To all units! We have a bird down! The Elves have anti-air capabilities! Heavy artillery has maximum range of seven hundred meters! All aircraft maintain a minimum stand-off range of nine-hundred meters!”
“How far away is this FOB Tolkien?” Rinn asked Bradford, as they followed Winters at a slower pace. “And how long will it take your artillery to get here?”
“About twelve kilometers,” Bradford replied. When Rinn gave her a confused look, she added, “Twelve thousand meters, or about twelve thousand tails, and they’re not coming here, they’re setting up at FOB Tolkien.”
Rinn did the math in his head. “That’s six Royal miles!” He looked at her, nonplussed. “What good is all your artillery going to be if it’s six miles awa-“ He stopped as his brain caught up with the implications. “You have artillery that can reach royal six miles away?!?!”
Kawalski laughed. “You bet your ass we do! That’s well inside engagement range. Hell, we’ve got some weapons we can launch on one side of the planet, and hit things on the other side of the planet!”
Bradford frowned. “Let’s hope we don’t have to use those. That means that shit’ll have really hit the fan.”
“But we gotta nuke ‘em from orbit, Jabs,” Kawalski insisted. “It’s the only way to be sure!”
“You are saying words that make no sense!” Rinn flicked his tail and ears in exasperation, and had to readjust the mickey mouses to keep them from being worked off.
“Wait, wait, I got one!” Edison said. “This place has a moon, right?”
Rinn cocked his head at him. “Yes…” What kind of crazy question is that?
“Awesome, so does ours!” Edison grinned. “We’ve been to ours!”
“Now you’re just yanking my tail!”
“Not one bit! We’ve sent people there and back several times!”
Rinn gave the man a skeptical glance. Readjusting his mickey mouses again as they shifted with the movements of his ears, he finally managed to snag the connecting band on his horns in a way that felt much more secure.
Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of a concentrated barrage of small-spell fire pattering into the hill, followed by a Marine shouting, “CORPSMAN!” Rinn jumped as another godhammer thumped further down the line, followed by the steady hammering of whatever the lighter, wheeled “tank” things were.
Two Marines carrying a stretcher ran to the hill crest. They returned a moment later, at a slower pace. The Marine on the stretcher had had most of his face caved in by a shardblast.
“Looks like they’re learning,” Dubois said as another massed barrage struck dirt or flashed overhead, this time concentrated on another point of the Marine’s line.
“Yeah, they still can’t hit for shit at this range, though,” Bradford pointed out. “They’re just massing fire and hoping to get lucky.” She turned to Rinn. “What is their effective range?”
“I haven’t seen them hit individual targets effectively outside of a hundred, hundred fifty tails, though they can volley-fire against formations out to five or six hundred. They all use the same base spell structure, regardless of size, and it collapses at about seven hundred tails.”
“Did you get all that, ma’am?” Bradford asked. Rinn turned around to find Winters standing behind him. It took a lot of willpower to stamp down on his instinct to bow.
“That I did, Corporal,” she said, and they all flinched as a concentrated barrage of heavy shardbursts struck the ground in front of an Abrams. Several flew harmlessly overhead, but over two dozen still impacted the hill, carving out great craters of earth. The godhammer thumped back in defiance.
“Looks like they’ve finally decided to use those long-range earth movers of theirs to try and dig away our cover,” Winters noted. “Been wondering when they were going to get around to trying that.” She smiled. “Good thing the arty’s set up. Follow me.”
“About fucking time, brah,” Stephens said. “What the fuck took them so long?”
“No GPS, no satellite surveillance, not even a goddamn map. Arty’s gotta do this the old-fashioned way.”
This time, Rinn and Bradford fell in behind the Major without hesitation, and she led them back to the ridge. There, they joined two other Marines, with some boxy equipment that contained some form of artifice. “All set, Sergeant?”
“The map’s blank, but we got a grid set up. Ready for ranging shots, Ma’am.”
“You may commence when ready.”
“Aye, ma’am!” He picked up a device and held it to the side of his face. “Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Adjust fire. Grid six-three-two-zero-one-eight. Over.” The sergeant listened to his device. “Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Massed enemy forces under heavy cover. Danger Close. Over.” He paused again. “Romeo, Foxtrot, aich-ee in effect, 1 round out.” Another pause. “Shot, out.” He lowered the device from his face. “First shell’s on its way.”
Rinn waited several seconds for something to happen, but he saw nothing new. He was just about to ask if they had actually fired when the sergeant called, “Five seconds!”
He looked, but saw nothing.
“Overshoot!” called one of the spotters. Rinn looked again, where the spotter was pointing, and saw a puff of smoke and dirt rising in the distance, on the other side of the river the elves were backing against.
“Copy! Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Adjust fire. Direction two-five hundred, drop one thousand, left one-five-zero. Danger Close. Out.”
Several seconds later, Rinn heard a faint whistling sound overhead, and a spray of dirt and smoke was kicked into the air off to the left of the elven formations. A second later, he heard the explosion. It had a much sharper crack than any artillery he had heard.
The elves responded with another concentrated barrage. The ground beneath him shuddered as the heavy shardblasts dug another crater out of the hill, raining dirt and rocks all around the Marines.
“Fucking pop these guys, already!” Rinn heard somebody shout.
He heard the Marine who was talking into his box call out more numbers, and marveled at the communication tool. The mana required to power an artifice like that would be utterly impractical, he thought. But if we had artillery that could reach that far, it might be worthwhile.
Another shrieking whistle, this one much louder, and an explosion tossed dirt into the air almost directly in front of them, less than two hundred tails away.
“Jesus, whose fucking side are they on?” Kawalski asked.
“A little close on that one, Sergeant,” Winters commented.
“Yes, ma’am,” the Sergeant replied, ignoring Kawalski, and spoke more into his device.
“Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six, adjust fire. Direction two-five-hundred, add five hundred, danger close, out.” Another quarter of a minute later, and something slammed into the elves’ shields. The Sergeant turned to Winters. “We’re sighted in, ma’am.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Saturation fire.”
“Aw, fuck yeah! Make it rain!”
“Aye, ma’am. Doghouse One, this Firebreak Six. Saturation fire from grid six-three-eight-zero-one-one to grid six-three-two-zero-one-eight. Massed troops under cover. Danger close. Fire for effect!” He paused. “All batteries, ache-ee in effect, three-six-zero rounds, dee-pee-aye-see-em in effect, six-zero rounds out.”
Rinn waited another half-minute, and then a whistle trailed overhead, ending in an explosion on the elven shield. Then another. And another. And another. Whistles shrieked constantly overhead, and ripples of explosions began walking across the elven shield, faster than he could count. Interspersed with the barrage that was already a deafening roar were heavy explosions that thumped in his chest even from this far away.
By all the gods above and below… Never before had he seen so much destruction brought to bear. The shields started to waver.
“Ha ha haaa!” Kawalski cried. “One fifty-five mike-mikes of mother fucking FREEDOM delivered at muzzle velocity!”
“Ma’am, Lancer flight inbound, ETA thirty seconds.”
Winters’ response was drowned out by another godhammer thumping anger at the elven legions.
Rinn felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Bradford pointing in the sky. Six large, bird-shaped things were moving through the sky, but they were much too large and moving much too fast to be birds. The first two banked on motionless wings and flew over the elven legions, spilling dozens of objects as they flew by.
The objects fell slow enough for Rinn to see them, and when they finally struck the shield, a wave of explosions and fire rolled across the shield. The shield stuttered, roiled, then shattered as the next two craft dropped their load overhead. A fresh wave of smoke and fire engulfed the elven legions, throwing debris high in every direction. Rinn was certain that most of it was pieces of bodies.
“Hoohoohooo! Look at the flyboys actually be worth something! Bend over, elfies! We’re going in dry!”
Artillery shells, no longer impeded by the shield, slammed into the elven ranks, and whole formations were wiped out. Three more heavy explosions burst over the elves as the last pair flew overhead.
“The shield’s down, lay it on!” Winters called, waving the Marines up. At her signal, the vehicles all surged to the top of the hill and opened fire.
Stunned by the intensity of the barrage, it took Rinn a moment to realize the number of “tanks” had doubled since the last time he had counted, and there were more of the lighter carriages and Marines. Kawalski whooped, and opened fire with his SAW while the rest of the Marines surged to the top of the hill, dropped down wherever they could find room, and fired. Thunder, fire, and glowing trails of light poured from the Marines’ line, the elven ranks were completely engulfed in smoke, dust, and fire.
“Hey, some of them are getting away!” Edison reported, pointing at several groups of elves that were sprinting across the river.
“What the fuck? Are they walking on water?”
“What kind of jesus spell bullshit is that!”
“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!” Winters called out, barely heard over the din.
The cannonade slowly tapered off to nothing, followed by the last few artillery shots shrieking across the sky to explode somewhere in the column of smoke that used to be eight legions of the Grand Army of the Elves.
“Ma’am, the flyboys have eyes on the forces that made it across the river. They’re pretty scattered, and it’s hard to say for sure, but it looks like maybe a quarter of their original forces made it across, along with a couple of the magic towers.” The Sergeant paused. “Ma’am, orders from FOB Tolkien. We are to sweep and clear to the river, but not proceed beyond. Flyboys are to enforce the river as a boundary.”
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“Send Wilco,” Winters said, and started passing orders through the Sergeant.
Rinn looked out at the column of smoke and dust towering above them. He did not want to go down there, but looking at the Marines all around him, he didn’t see that he had much choice.
“Alright, Marines, sweep and clear to the river. Form up by squads and move as a line with the vehicles. TWO FIVE!”
“RETREAT HELL!”
***************
Rinn trudged through the Marine camp, trying to stay out of the way of the bustle of activity. Night had fallen, and many of the Marines had found some place to sleep, but more humans were arriving all the time.
The last several hours since the battle had passed in a blur. They had walked down to the river, searching for threats and survivors. They found none. Rinn shuddered, remembering the carnage and destruction that he had walked through. It didn’t even look like Gahla, he thought. It looked like another world. That notion brought him no comfort.
Once the battle was over, the lord generals had been swift to relieve him of the job of Major Winters’ advisor. Lord General Yangri himself had commended him on his bravery, then quickly sent him back to the lower ranks.
Returning to camp to try and find anyone from his Column or Line, Rinn instead found himself snatched up into several different working parties. He spent several hours working to salvage the Ganlin camp, and assist the humans in setting up theirs.
They’re turning this place into a fortress with earthworks, Rinn noted as he passed another mechanical wonder, growling and rumbling as it filled great bags with earth and rocks scooped from the ground. And at this rate, they’ll have it done literally overnight.
He stopped to ask for directions. The Marine pointed towards a collection of tents and pavilions half-way across their growing compound.
At least I was able to retrieve my own stave from the armory. He double-checked the leather strap that looped around the stave so he could sling it over his shoulder. The lower buckle was worn and was prone to coming undone. And an extra mana crystal.
His stomach rumbled. He had grown used to short rations in the last couple years of the war, but food was particularly scarce in the Royal Host camp tonight. Many of the soldiers who had routed had raided the food stores as they fled. Not that the lords of the Host will go hungry. Their food stockpiles were kept under heavier guard.
Walking past a mound of dirt with strange spikes and fans of metal spires sticking out of it, Rinn took stock of what he had left. One stave, half-expended. One replacement mana crystal. He touched his gambeson. One set of armor, mostly intact. Shirt and trousers. Under-sized boots… He grimaced. Well, they’re a closer fit than the ones I was originally issued, at least.
He patted his belt. One dagger, a mostly-empty coin purse. And one pair of mickey mouses. He sighed. And apparently, I’m all that’s left of Third Line. Does that make me the Line Commander? He chuckled at the absurdity.
Rinn absently patted his gambeson, checking for another pouch, and his ears drooped as he was reminded that he had left it in the crate he used as a personal chest before the battle. And all that was left of the Column’s pavilion was a few scraps of muddy canvas, a broken cot, and a few shattered chests.
Head down, tail all but dragging in the dirt, Rinn continued his lonely trudge, his thoughts drifting down dark paths.
“Shields!”
Rinn perked his ears up, looking around.
“Shields! Where the fuck have you been?” Kawalski waved at him. “Get your furry ass over here!”
Rinn turned towards the tall Marine, his spirits lifting. I found them!
“Man, we’ve been looking all over for you!” Kawalski said, meeting him half-way. He threw a heavy arm over Rinn’s shoulders and casually started dragging him towards a salvaged Royal Host pavilion. He carried a large box under his other arm.
Shouldering the door flap aside, he pulled Rinn in after him. “Hey, guys, look who I found skulking around the front porch!”
“Oh, shit, it’s Shields!” Gomez hopped up from a cot he had been sitting on.
“Shields, man, where’ve you been? We were worried!” Dubois waved at him from another cot, where he had his weapon apart in pieces with a rag, a brush, and something that smelled like oil.
Rinn gaped, both ears swinging forward. It was the first time he had seen any of them without a helmet on. “Your ears are round!”
“Of course not! Did you think we were some knife-eared elfy bastards?” Sampson asked.
“Nah, we’re aliens, brah!” Stephens said. “Aliens from another world, man.”
“Shut the fuck up, Stephens,” Kawalski said as he set the box down on a crate that was being used as a table. “I’m not a goddamn alien. Everything else is the goddamn aliens.”
“What’s in the box, Kawalski?” Miller asked
“What’s in the booox!” Sampson echoed.
“Chow time!” Kawalski declared as he ripped the top open and started passing out tan packages.
“Oh, man, where the fuck did you get these? I thought they were still sorting out getting chow through the portal!” Bradford asked, setting aside her own weapon to reach for a package.
“Co Guns managed to rustle some up. I snagged a box for the squad before the rest of the company scarfed ‘em down.”
“Awesome! But where did Co Guns find them?” Dubois asked
“Ha, First Sergeant asked him that same question!”
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to!”
Kawalski tossed a package at Rinn, and gestured at an empty cot next to Bradford. “Have a seat, Shields, and dig in.”
Rinn slowly sat down on the cot and looked at the package in confusion. “Here, let me help,” Bradford laughed. She told him how to tear it open, and explained what the contents were and what to do with them as he pulled them out. “Looks like you lucked out, the beef ravioli is pretty decent.” Rinn wasn’t sure whether he should be confused, amazed, or horrified at what these humans had managed to do to make lasting field rations.
“Oh, fuck yes, tortellini!”
“Chilli maaac!”
“Hey, is there another beef ravioli in there? Toss me one!”
“Hey, is there a veggie burger in there?” Sampson asked.
“Yes, I got you your fucking veggie burger, you sick fuck,” Kawalski, chucking a package at him.
“How the fuck can you stand those things?”
“Man, I just like them, okay?”
“Whatever, more chilli mac for me!”
“Hey, real talk, though,” Dubois said, disassembling his package. “What are we going to call the elves?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the terrorists are Terry, we called the Russians Ivan. The commies in Vietnam were Charlie. The Germans were Gerry. What are we calling the elves?”
“Hmm… It’s gotta be an ee-name, right?” Sampson asked.
“Maybe. The Russians didn’t fit that rule.”
“What about Eli?” Gomez asked.
“Shut the fuck up, boot,” Kawalski snapped. “You don’t get to pick names.”
“What about Eduardo!” Stephens asked.
“You don’t get to pick names, either!”
“Just call them Keeblers,” Bradford said while showing Rinn how to use the “chemical heating pack” in his emaree. What magic is this!?
Everyone looked at her for a moment. “And that’s why Jabs is in charge,” Kawalski said, and they all turned back to their meal.
“Hey, Edison, you gonna come eat?” Gomez asked.
“Yeah, in a minute,” he said, not looking up from the device he was inspecting.
“What’cha workin’ on?” The young Marine asked.
“The GoPro. It took some shrapnel when the Humvee got hit.”
“Whaaaat! The bastards got the GoPro?!?” Sampson asked.
“Yeah, the screen’s busted, and so are the lights. I think it turns on, but I can’t tell.”
“They got the GoPro??” Miller asked. “Oh, we’re gonna fuck ‘em up!”
“What’s so special about a GoPro?” Gomez asked. “That thing looks ancient!”
“Listen here, you goddamn Boot,” Kawalski rounded on Gomez. “That GoPro has more combat time than you have time in service! It’s been passed down through eight generations of Marines, been on twelve deployments, survived three grenades, saved four Marines, and recorded half the fucking combat footage on YouTube. You will show it some goddamn respect, do you understand me, Private?”
“Yes, Lance Corporal!”
“Can you fix it?” Bradford asked.
“Maybe, I dunno, Jabs.” Edison shook his head. “The memory looks intact, so I should be able to pull the footage off, at least, but I think the GoPro’s fought it’s last fight.” He fiddled with the buttons a little more, then reverently set the device down on a crate.
“RIP, GoPro. We’ll burry it with full honors.”
I have so many questions my questions have questions, Rinn thought, as he carefully opened the heated “entrée package.” But above and below, this smells good. He used the spoon to scoop out a steaming bite, and cautiously put it in his mouth. His eyes went wide and his ears perked straight up. This is amazing! It actually tastes like something! He scarfed down the rest of it as fast as he could, and demolished the packaging so he could lick the inside clean.
“I guess our kitty was hungry,” Kawalski laughed.
“He’s not a cat, he’s a fox,” Sampson said. “Look at the nose!”
“Are you kidding? Look at him! He’s a cat! Put him in a box and take a picture, and he’d fit every “Khajit has wares” meme ever made!”
“Poooiinnty nooooose!”
“But what about the horns?” Dubois asked around a mouthful of food. “Is he part goat?”
“I’ll part goat a spell blast up your ass,” Rinn snarled as he worked on tearing open another package with his teeth. Whatever in the five hells a goat is. “I’m sitting right here!”
“Eeey! He’s learning!” Kawalski said, throwing his arms wide. “There’s hope for him, yet!”
“You’re all gods-damned insane!”
“Well, duh! We’re Marines!”
“What do you do, sit around all day eating glue?”
“Yup!”
“Though we prefer crayons,” Edison said, eating his emaree cold.
“Nothing better than munching on a good crayon,” Kawalski added. “What’s your favorite flavor, Jabs? Mine’s purple!”
“Mine’s green!”
“Me, too,” Sampson chimed in.
“I like the blue ones,” Dubois added.
“Eh, I don’t like the blue ones,” Miller shook his head. “They’re too tart.”
Rinn just stared at them. We’ve been saved by chaos demons…
“I think you guys broke him,” Bradford laughed.
“We broke him?” Kawalski feigned insult. “You’re the one who was dragging and shoving and dropping on him all over the battlefield! You’re not even a day into your relationship, and you’re already abusing him!”
“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski.”
“What, did you guys break up already?” Kawalski shrugged. “Maybe we can start seeing each other again. Sampson and I broke up because I don’t like power bottoms.”
Sampson laughed. “You’re the one who keeps trying to win gay chicken with a guy who’s actually gay, and then gets all butthurt when you lose!”
“I’m not butthurt, you’re fucking butthurt!”
Rinn decided it was best to just ignore the humans. He pulled his legs up onto the cot and hunched over the latest package he had just opened. It was a dense, brown square, and it smelled delicious.
The humans continued their banter, with Kawalski driving to greater heights of sexual overtones. Rinn ignored them, lost in the sweet gooeyness that was the brown square, until Kawalski shouted for his attention again.
“Hey, Shields! Isn’t there supposed to be camp followers?” Rinn tilted his head and twisted an ear in confusion. “You know, civvies who follow the army around, especially the whore types?”
“Kawalski, we are not having this conversation,” Bradford cut in. “The last thing we need to do right now is start a string of Okinawa incidents.”
“But Jabs, you’re still hung up over your boyfriend, and Sampson and I are too busy fighting over the kids in the divorce, where else am I going to get some tail?”
“Kawalski, if you really want to blow off some steam, go see if any army units have shown up that you can reallocate gear from.”
“… Jabs, you’re fucking brilliant! This is why you’re in charge! C’mon, guys, let’s go, I think I saw some Army trucks rolling in on the other side of the camp.” Kawalski jumped up, grabbing some of his gear, dragging most of the squad along with him thru sheer enthusiasm. Dubois exchanged a glance with Bradford as he finished putting his weapon back together.
She sighed. “Go with them and make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Aye, Jabs,” he said, setting his weapon down and grabbing some gear.
***************
Kawalski made the rest of the squad wait outside for Dubois to join them.
As the Corporal stepped through the door flap, Gomez spun around. “Oh, shit, I forgo-“
Kawalski grabbed him by the collar, ranked him back, and shoved him into a walk away from the tent. “You’re doing without, Boot. Jabs and Shields are getting their alone time.”
“What?” Edison asked as the posse walked away from the tent.
“Look, Jabs isn’t the fuck-and-forget type, right?” Kawalski explained. “She’s the type who wants something more serious than that. But she’s too straight-laced to fuck anyone in the division, and she’s too career-driven to have enough time to find that outside of the Corps.” He shrugged. “Besides, did you see them? They’re a perfect match!”
“What, are you playing matchmaker now, Kawalski?” Dubois asked.
“Hey, they don’t call me Matt the Maddog Matchmaker for nothing!”
“Nobody calls you that!” Miller laughed.
“They will!” Kawalski insisted. “Now, c’mon, I’m pretty sure they were setting the Patriots up over this way!”
***************
Rinn stared through the door flap after Kawalski in the silence that descended now that he and Bradford were alone.
“Why do you tolerate him and his insubordination?”
Bradford laughed. “Kawalski is a complete, balls-to-the-wall motard. Motivated Retard,” she added when Rinn looked at her in confusion. “He’s committed to the Corps, and a damn good Marine, and he is also one-hundred-percent motivated and dedicated to causing somebody Trouble, with a capital T.” She shrugged. “If you can point him in the right direction, he will cause all the right sorts of trouble, and drive everyone’s motivation along with him. Letting him give me an extra dose of the same banter and bullshit he gives everyone else makes him think he’s causing me Trouble, gives him an outlet, and he works harder at doing everything else I need him to do.”
She sighed heavily. “Besides, it’s mostly a defense mechanism.” She shrugged at Rinn’s confused flip of his ears. “He was always something of a fuckhead, from what I’ve been told, but he earned two Bronze Stars in Afghanistan. The first was before I reported to the Battalion, and he lost half his squad in that fight.” She shook her head. “He never recovered; it still eats away at him. So he puts on the show, acts even more of a motard asshole than he was, to cover for it.”
Rinn nodded, thinking of the friends and comrades he had lost over the years. He didn’t know how many of his Pike Line were still alive, or if it even still existed. He saw Kehkk’s lacerated corpse, remembered the sight and vivid smell of his friend’s insides that should never have seen the light of day. The faint sizzle as the gemblade casually dragged his blade through his friend’s body. The smell of burning hair and scorched flesh.
“Ah, shit, man, I’m sorry.” Rinn snapped out of the memory at a light touch on his shoulder. He was surprised to see a look of concern on the human’s face, so different, but recognizable. She withdrew her hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up… that…” she rolled her hand in the air as she struggled for words. “Recent memories.”
“It’s okay,” he said, flicking his ears back in an uncomfortable dismissal. “It’s not the first defeat I’ve… participated in.” He grimaced, remembering other friends lost, and more. “Nor… the worst.”
Another touch brought him back to the present, this time it was her hand on top of his. These humans are so… tactile.
“You can talk to me about it, if you need to.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know if it works the same way for keshmin, but for humans, at least, talking about it usually helps.”
“I…” Rinn began, but faltered. “I-“ These things weren’t talked about. To talk about the loss was to accept it. To remember the defeat was to relive it. To make what was lost a reality. He felt a weight press on him, his face, his limbs, some invisible force that wanted to crush him into the ground. He whined.
He tried to move, but he was paralyzed by the crushing weight. “I couldn’t- I-“ His breath caught, his lungs seizing.
He stared at the canvas of the pavilion’s wall, but didn’t see it. He saw the smoke over the trees. The smoldering ruins. He wretched at the stench of burning fur and flesh mixed with blood and offal. “My home is gone,” he whispered, and keened at the admission.
Bradford remained silent, letting him continue in his own time.
“We’d won. We’d beaten them back, made them into retreat. It was a desperate maneuver, and a hard fight, but the Royal Host had shown its strength and forced them to withdraw.” He shook his head, the movement slow and stuttering. “But we were too late.”
“I grew up in the town of Laelae, in the Yintar province.” It was a change of subject, but it was important, and less painful. “It was always something of a backwater, a minor tradestop, surrounded by farms and a lumbermill. My family are only yeomen, but my father always saved some extra coin to have me educated, and when I showed the talent for artificing, the Kingdom paid for additional instruction. We knew the war with the elves was coming; they had broken centuries of isolation, and were expanding aggressively.” He was rambling now, he knew, but found that he couldn’t stop, didn’t dare. “My father passed away the year war was declared. He contracted tallow fever. The town physician did what he could, but there is only so much even the best medical artificers can do.”
Rinn took a breath, remembering his father’s laugh, a stern scolding, his dedication to his craft. A wagon wheel is a wagon wheel, but no matter what you do, always do it well. This pain hurt, but it was old, and it had given him purpose. “With Father gone, we would have struggled to get by, but the war was on. The elves had declared us animals, vermin to be exterminated, and the Host was in desperate need of artificers.” He nodded, his spine straightening. “They guaranteed an allowance that would keep my family fed, and so I signed up. To support my family, and defend my home.”
He looked at Bradford, and was startled at how intensely her eyes seemed to be listening. They’re green! Blue, gray, orange, and brown, yes, but never have I seen green eyes before. She nodded at him to continue, and he did.
“I became an Artificer in the Royal Host. I trained as a Pikeman first. Every member of the Host is a pikeman.”
She exhaled a short laugh through her nose. “Every Marine is a rifleman,” she said with a smile.
“A similar doctrine,” he said, and surprised himself by returning the smile. “That’s when I met Khekk; we had reported at the same time. We quickly became friends, and we managed to stay together in the same Line for the whole war.” He paused as memories of that day slammed into him, and he barely croaked out, “Until today.”
Bradford placed her hand on his again. The sensation of her smooth skin against his fur was bizarre, and an unexpected comfort. He found the strength to continue.
“I was given a stave and trained as an Artificer of War. I’ve never been the greatest artificer in the Kingdom, but I’m still a damn good one. I’m decent enough with elemental pulses and focused mana bursts. I even managed to pick up a bit of the elven shard spelling, but I have a particular knack for the defensive artifices.” He twisted his free hand through the air, as if molding the shape of what he saw in his mind. “I can intuit shield geometries better than most, and I can do it while holding enhancement artifices active on half a Line, and while maintaining a decent offensive output.” He nodded. “I made Second Artificer because I’m good.” He sighed. “But not good enough.”
He stared through the canvas again, his snout twitching with a snarl that wanted to form. Nobody could be good enough. He felt a reassuring squeeze of his hand, and something moving through his fur. He looked down. Bradford was rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. He stared at the motion as he continued. “The war had been on for four years. I had been campaigning for three. The early battles were inconclusive, both of us probing each other, testing each other. But then the elven legions showed up in force. And they pushed. Us. Back.”
He took a shuddering breath. “We were not so unevenly matched, at first, but the Lord Generals have their notions of how battles and wars should be fought, and they did not account for all of what the elves are capable of.” He barely noticed Bradford grimace, his snout twitching into a snarl of his own. “We lost more than we should have, still lose more than we should, because some high lord in his grand estate has been taught since his mother weened him that battles are fought in particular ways, and nobody dares question it.”
His expression softened; he was too exhausted to stay angry. “Not all of them were so bad. Lord General Kyikn Yangri, the sire of our current Supreme Commander, he understood. He restructured the Host, changed how we engaged the elves, and we started pushing them back.”
The brief flare of light faded from his eyes. “Then we got word of a new Elven offensive. We had just pushed the elves out of what used to be the city of Vashn. They had been there for months, and nothing was left. Not even ruins.” He shuddered. “Every place we pushed them out of was the same. It was as if they were trying to wipe out all trace of our existence.”
Rinn whined. “Yintar was supposed to be different. They had just invaded the province. It wouldn’t be easy, and it was a risk, but we could save the province, drive them out before they wiped more of our nation, our history, from existence.”
He shivered, the heavy weight returning. He looked past the canvas again, and when he continued, he could barely muster more than a monotone. “It was a three-day forced march, but we forced them to the field in the farms outside Laelae. The whole of the Royal Host had come to save little, insignificant, backwater Laelae. It was a hard fight. We were exhausted from the march, and our baggage train had lagged behind, so we were short on mana crystals, arrows, everything. But old Lord General Yangri was a clever bastard, and he caught them in a pincer, forced them in between two rises that prevented them from using their artillery until we were right on top of them, while we rained every single arrow and bolt we had into them. We pushed them right back to the trees, and when the third pincer sprung into their flank, they had no choice but to break and withdraw.”
A ragged breath was all he could force through the paralyzing weight, his voice ragged. “I saw the smoke above the trees. I knew what it meant. We all did. Despite our exhaustion, we all double-timed the last half-mile.” His eyes twitched and his vision blurred. The scent of scorched fur and flesh filled his snout. “It was all ruins. Smoldering rubble, and bodies. The house I grew up in was nothing but a pile of ash.” He whimpered, unable to keep his breathing regular. “Little Maya had grown so much since I had left.” His voice cracked. “Her body was in pieces. Tallin, he had found a sword and tried to fight, but it was cut in two and his head was gone. He was just a boy, and they cut his head off and crushed it.” He keened again, rocking back and forth. “I found Mama in the yard. They burned her alive. I only knew it was her because of the wedding bands on her wrist.”
His whole body shook as he tried to control his breathing. He wiped his hands across his face, his eyes streaming. “I never found Tahla. Half the village was missing. No bodies were found.” He growled. “We knew what had happened to them. They destroyed my home. My family. And I couldn’t stop them!”
His vision blurred, and he could see nothing but the mutilated bodies of his brother and youngest sister, smell the blackened flesh of his mother.
Until a hand on his shoulder brought him back. Only this time, it wasn’t just a light touch. Bradford had moved to his cot next to him, and was wrapping her arms around him, pulling him against her. He resisted at first, it was highly inappropriate and improper. But he just didn’t have the energy to care. He gave in, and clung to her, his whole body shuddering as he just let go.
Rinn didn’t know how long they sat there while he expended his grief. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. All he knew was that, when it was done, he was exhausted.
With a sigh, he pulled back, a calming catharsis settling over him.. He wanted to stay that way longer, with her rubbing his back in comfort, but he found he had the energy to care about impropriety again. “Thank you,” he said. “I… I don’t know what to say.” His ears flickered awkwardly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she replied, wiping her own eyes. “I’m a Marine. We’re all supposed to be tough as nails, but… War is Hell, and I don’t know a single one of us who could have gone through that and not broken down at some point. I’ve seen guys kill themselves over a lot less.”
“I almost died that day,” Rinn admitted. “I didn’t care about surviving anymore, and I would have chased after the elves until I found them, and then thrown myself at them until they had killed me. But Khekk found me, stopped me, and promised we’d get them back.” He heaved a sigh. “And now he’s dead, and it’s all on me.”
Bradford shook her head, taking his hand again. “Wrong. You’re not alone. You’ve got us now.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “They pissed off a sleeping giant, and they don’t have a fucking clue about the world of hurt that is about to drop on their heads. Today, we were just getting started. We’re going to make those bastards pay for everything they have done, full price, in blood, and we’re going to make sure that they never do it again, even if we have to nuke them into oblivion. Oorah?”
Rinn snorted, and flicked his ears in her direction. “Oorah.”
“Good!” she clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll make a Marine out of you yet!”
“We’ll see,” he said as they shared a chuckle.
“Well,” she said, stepping away from him and reaching down to pull off her blouse. She held it away from her, looking at the garment in mild disgust. “It’s been a looong fucking day, and I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the sack.”
Rinn sat up straight, his ears and spine going parade-deck rigid, and he forced himself to look elsewhere. The proportions were a little different, but with just her undershirt, it was clear that she had the same shape and anatomy as a keshmin woman.
He had denied, ignored, or just outright put off the question all day, but found himself suddenly unable to ignore it further. “So, uh… You’re a woman?”
“Ha! You just now figuring this out?” She asked, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I’ve got boobs and a vagina, what of it?” She cocked her hips, accentuating the curve of her figure, and glared at him. “You ogling me, foxboy?”
Rinn stuttered and stammered, his eyes going wide as he looked at Bradford, and then immediately looked away. He felt his stomach dropping through his trousers in sheer mortification.
Bradford struggled to keep a straight face, but her mouth twitched, then she snorted, and then doubled over in laughter. “I’m just fucking with you, man, relax!”
Rinn did no such thing, though he was relieved that he hadn’t just gravely insulted her.
“Lemme guess,” she said, sitting down on her cot and grunting as she pulled one of her boots off. “Keshmin women don’t go to war.”
Rinn shook his head, pointedly trying not to look at her, though he feared his ears were giving him away. He made a mental note to amputate the mutinous bastards at a later date.
“Yeah, we used to be the same way,” she said, pulling the other boot off. “Then we realized it was kind of a dumb idea. A waste of half the talent pool of your population.” She stowed the second boot underneath her rack, next to the first one, then began pulling off the socks she wore underneath. “We’re still figuring out a lot of that shit, and we’ve only just started allowing women in combat roles in the last few years, though we’ve had women in the military for decades.” She examined the socks with even more disgust, and hung them up somewhere to dry and air out.
Rinn found himself distracted by her clothing, from the sized-for-her boots, to the socks she wore inside the boot. Even her feet were bizarre.
“Hey,” she said, wriggling her bare toes at him. “My boobs are up here!”
His eyes immediately snapped up, then up again, as his ears flicked down in out in embarrassment.
“Oh, man,” she said, giggling, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t even fair. I'm just poking fun, please, don't take me seriously.”
Rinn looked at Bradford, his ears twirling front to back and back to face her as he tried to figure out how to even feel or respond to this whole situation. Why am I so flustered? She's not even a keshmin! She doesn't have any fur!"
“How do you…” Rinn waved at her and gestured around the pavilion.
“Live with a bunch of horny, fuck-ready Marines in a male-dominated career?”
“Yeah, that.” Not what I was actually trying to ask, but that's fine.
“Well,” Bradford sighed. “I’d be lying if I said it was easy. It’s not. But I get by mostly by not being a push-over. I give right back whatever kind of shit they give me, make it clear that I’m not interested in them, and as for propriety…” She shrugged. “There comes a point when you’re just too tired to give a fuck.” She laughed. “Besides, half the regiment’s seen Kawalski’s balls. Seeing each other naked isn’t as big a deal as people make it out to be.”
Rinn nodded slowly, still struggling to wrap his mind around the whole affair.
“A lot to take in for one day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Rinn agreed. He paused, looking around. “Can I stay here tonight? The rest of my line… I don’t think Third Line exists anymore. My column’s pavilion is gone. All I have left is what I’m wearing.”
“Of course,” Bradford said. “We were actually trying to find you earlier. I talked to First Sergeant and the Company El-Tee. The higher-ups always like the idea of joint operations, and that shield stuff you can do is pretty fucking awesome, nevermind the whole dispelling the elves’ invisibility bullshit. The brass is on-board with permanently embedding some artificers in our units, and we dibsed you for our squad.”
Rinn had to stop and think for a long moment. If he stayed with the Royal Host, he would just be folded into another Line and sent back into the meat grinder. These humans were alien, and crazy, but they talked of such wonders he had never seen. And they were winning. That is a lot of crazy I would have to deal with, he thought. I hope I don’t become just as crazy. “Okay,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Outstanding!” Bradford said. “Welcome to Second Battalion, Fifth Marines. Retreat, hell!”
“You keep saying that,” he said. “What does it mean?”
“It’s our battalion motto,” Bradford said. “It originated back in the first World War, and yes, we had more than one. My country, the United States of America, joined that war late, and when Marines from two/five arrived in the trenches, a French officer told one of our officers that we should retreat. Our officer replied, “Retreat? Hell, we just got here!” Retreat, Hell has been our motto ever since.”
“Oh,” Rinn said. He snorted. “Rather fitting today.”
“Yeah, I’d thought about that, too,” Bradford nodded. “Any more questions?”
Rinn started to shake his head in the negative, but stopped, his ears twisting in curiosity. “One, actually.”
“Shoot.”
“Why do they call you Jabs?”
“It’s my initials,” she smiled. “My name is Jamie Alice Bradford, so my initials are Jay Ay Bee.” She shrugged. “Far from the worst nickname I could have picked up.”
“I see,” he said, falling into awkward silence.
Until he was nearly bowled off the cot when she chucked a blanket and pillow at him. “Now get some shut-eye. The boys should be back soon, and tomorrow always comes far too early.”
Rinn set the blanket and pillow down on the cot and began doffing his gambeson as Bradford turned out the lights.
***************
Tyriel opened his eyes. The moon had risen high in the sky, but with only a sliver, it shed sparse light.
Slowly, silently, he eased himself out of the mud and muck.
Normally, he would have disparaged being covered in such filth, but tonight it would aide his cause.
Carefully, he crept away from the edge of the field, and the harsh, unnatural light these “humans” were casting upon it.
Slipping into the woods, he turned East. He couldn’t see it, there were trees and a low ridge obstructing his view, but he could feel it. The etherium thrummed in his bones.
Cautiously, with painstaking focus on stealth, he made his way to his target.
A great tear in the very fabric of two realities, rent and torn asunder, and permanently fused together.
The portal.