Chapter 20

Alpine Mountain Range

Atilla couldn't sleep whatsoever despite his exhaustion. The now dawning sun was peeking through the mountain peaks, bathing the valley in a faint bluish light that was slowly transitioning into the bright morning’s yellow glow, the birds were singing, and the morning doe had cooled the ground.

The weather was good.

Too good.

The sense of impending disaster was striking at his nerves now more than ever.

Soon… the attack will come soon.

By now, they had constructed more barricades; his men had begun digging the foundations for a larger wall they planned on constructing around the one they’d already finished. He had everything he needed to fight off an invasion. Manpower, barricades, he had his best men surrounding the doorway with over a hundred orcs and their handlers guarding the very entrance of the evil door to another world. Fire mages stood at the ready with a thousand of his archers. Not too far behind them was the large contingency of cavalry and catapults, and far behind them stood the hundred thousand men in reserve should they fail at stopping them at the chokepoint made by the doorway.

Those were not reinforcements, but they were good to have.

It was more than any competent general could hope for.

And yet...

Agustine stepped inside, saying “Good day, general.”

“Agustine, I assume your fire mages are still in position.”

“Indeed.”

“Good. I worry they will try to strike when we’re at our most vulnerable still.”

“Vulnerable?”

The two men glanced at Octavius, the general walking over with a limp, growling “We have the best legions in all of Iberia, the best mages... even if they push us back, the mountains provide-”

“We know... I still worry is all. They want us all dead, do they not?”

Octavius muttered something to the affirmative, but Atilla only turned his attention towards the doorway and those around it.

All quiet...

As long as they could stop their main forces at that entrance, the enemy would be unable to bring the flying machines that cut his dragon riders down like nothing. He knew his fliers were preparing for their daily fly-by from the nearby mountains, even now. They would attack enemy infantry if his own was unable to reach them, dropping hastas from high above.

Even if they were pushed out, they could continue fighting in the mountains, hiding, preventing the enemy from ever gaining a stable foothold in this world, perhaps even preventing them from bringing those dreaded machines.

A sound strategy…

Surely without the flying machines, the enemy could not touch the fliers. Their thick scaly skin was immune to most sword strikes, and only carefully targeted piercing stabs under their iron-like scales would hurt them, let alone land a killing blow.

Surely, their accursed magic wasn't enough.

He scoffed at this false confidence, a sad attempt at keeping himself from thinking there was nothing he could actually do. Even with the help of the best wizards, the best legions, and the best archers, a part of him knew they were woefully outmatched, even with all their advantages. More numbers meant little if their weapons couldn't strike down their enemy.

The large iron chariots that could not be pierced by a mere sword or lance. Those were another problem on their own. Perhaps the catapults could do some damage if concentrated well enough, but it was all theory. Infantry would go down on its own, of course.

Men were still men, after all.

But failure...

That concerned him the most, eyeing the sealed parchment on his desk, barely illuminated by the morning twilight. He was pondering this. If what countermeasures he had come up with would be enough, when suddenly loud, awful cracks were heard across the camp and brought his thoughts to an immediate stop.

The horn sounded then.

Octavius stiffened.

Agustine frowned, saying “That’s... the signal, is it not?”

Atilla only said “Yes.”

A call to action, the orcs and their handlers placed as guards at the entrance would sound off only if they heard the enemy approaching. As they began pulling back to a less dangerous position, Atilla immediately picked up his helmet, the purple crest ensuring he would be easy to identify as a general had been removed, preferring to keep his small purple cape instead as it was smaller, but easier for his own men to identify.

No need to give the enemy a target...

"To the lines! The enemy is on its way! Ready the catapults!"

“Move! This is what we prepared for!!!” Octavius screamed.

Their officers responded gallantly as they ran to their posts, messengers relayed orders, and legionnaires began to position themselves to halt any advancing force, human or otherwise. Ballistae were loaded with the heaviest spears they could carry, and the heaviest rocks his catapults could launch were set and ready, with others on standby to reload as best they could. The legions stood in place, the workers retreated, the archers on the nearby hills he could see were in place, and Atilla could see it all.

"Gentlemen, everything is in place?" he questioned.

Octavius adjusted his armor and simply said "Aye."

Agustine added, “The second they break through we will rain fire.”

"Excellent. Messenger!"

The man was already running to his horse, the scroll with the letter he had written in his hand. It was supposed to be the main warning to the emperor. Depending on the course of the battle, a second messenger would be dispatched. The soldier rode off at top speeds and Atilla turned his attention to the cursed doorway, seeing a falcon fly from a tree in the distance, as though disturbed.

It went away into the sky.

He smiled.

A good omen.

Come...

Immediately after the thought, the wooden barricades, supported by iron and bricks, began to twist and give way, something slowly becoming visible in the darkness behind it. It was slow, and it appeared that the barricade might successfully hold it in place, but he knew better.

It was sudden.

The barricade snapped, collapsing after a second, the stone and bricks pushed away, and the first of the enemy beasts came in full view, crushing everything under it and collapsing what remained of the barricades.

Four large… green… iron… elephants…

Smoke erupted from their trunks, and he saw its magic swallow a group of orcs huddling in one of the nearby ditches he had ordered they dig.

"Now! Light the flames!" Atilla ordered.

A trumpet sounded.

The archers shot several fire arrows; enhanced by magic to last and burn hotter than anything they could normally muster, keeping the flames burning as they flew to their targets. They glided neatly in the air, their orange glow even more noticeable in the morning light, quickly approaching, not the enemy beasts, but the grounds around them.

They hit.

Fire engulfed the entire area surrounding the doorway. From it a massive wall of flames that would have killed everyone there rose up into the air, enveloping even the doorway. Atilla held his breath, noting Agustine’s arm raised as if commanding the flames. After a moment, it all gave out, the hill scorched, the ground ashen.

The iron beasts remained, but they had paused as if the fire had briefly stunned them.

Then two more pushed out, and then another and another. More flames rained down, but these didn’t pause to be hit, pressing away from the fire, they perched up on the very edge of the hill, slowing down as they did, not attacking, parts of their metallic bodies on fire. Their heads shifted as if they were looking over the battlefield.

"The enemy has halted!" Octavius yelled.

Agustine let out a shaky breath, saying “That’s... that’s all we can do...”

"It’s enough! Let the catapults loose, now!" Atilla shouted.

The rope holding the wooden weapons back was cut, releasing their deadly payload. Large boulders being launched were the artillery of old, heavy, and deadly; victor of various battles. Some landed around the war elephants that had advanced through the flames like nothing, the speed and weight adding to the devastation, lifting stone and rock, shattering as they did so.

The Iron elephants seemed unbothered as they surveyed the area. Their trunks and heads continued shifting east to west as more joined them despite the constant attacks.

Just how many...?

The orcs rose from their shelters and charged forward.

An orc jumped onto the war elephant, attempting to stab its trunk, the blade causing sparks to emit from the ironed beast. Thunder crashed then. The orc was cut down immediately, the other elephants spat lightning-quick fireflies that seemed to not affect their brethren but ripped the orcs to shreds like nothing while screeching their war cries like wailing spirits. Their handlers remained sheltered, helplessly watching the macabre scene unfold.

The legions stood, staring in silence as even the catapults stopped their attack.

Then the war machines spat their magic again, but as one. There were only eight of them. Yet, lined up as they were, they breathed death through the battlefield.

Heavy rocks from the catapults continued to fall around them, some directly slamming into their heads. If the beasts were damaged or not appeared impossible to discern and perhaps even pointless as their fiery breath and deadly weapons were still killing regardless, keeping his men pinned, unable to charge or push forward.

Atilla froze.

More still came forward.

This really is the nightmare I expected…

The fire they had rained down had created a neat little show, but it wasn’t enough.

No.

The arrows, the wall of fire, the unceasing strikes from the catapults and ballistae, any human army would be stopped, not even the beast men of old had stood against such power. But these creatures, these man-made monsters, were taking the hits with vigor unseen. The orcs attempting to pierce their way into them, slaughtered. Their best legions, ducking away, trying to find cover as more of the inhuman machines emerged to spread death.

Their attacks hadn't ceased, and the enemy was only holding the hill. Despite the ranged artillery that landed and occasionally scored direct hits, they were still killing from a distance with such ease it disturbed Atilla to his core.

The general saw men that hadn't even moved to charge get blown to bits by the constant attacks from afar, as the war machines ran out of nearby targets and began firing at anything they could see in the vast fields.

A catapult erupted into flames and smoke to his left.

Damn! They saw the-

A second one exploded, the men around it simply scattering away… those that could, anyway. No, the awful truth was that those not untouched were torn to shreds still alive. A horrifying end, albeit a quick one. Death continued to spread through the field like wildfire, the men pinned in the ditches unable to charge, those that tried were cut down and those that remained were blown to ashes as the war elephants continued forward.

H-how easily can these men murder? What sort of monsters did we attack?

Across the field, he saw more iron chariots, albeit not the iron elephants… these were smaller, however similar. They hid behind the elephants, which now numbered sixteen in number.

He then realized what they were as they stopped behind the other beasts.

Troop transports!

"Archers!!!" he shouted over the sound of another explosion.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Waves upon waves of them shot into the air, briefly blocking out the sun.

It was all so useless.

Arrows bounced off from the metal armor, not even denting it that he could see. The smoke briefly cleared, and he could just faintly see more of those metal boxes staying put near the portal. Protecting it. Marking their territory gained.

The larger ones advanced.

So soon.

It hadn't even been an hour!

Then, beneath him, he saw, for the briefest instant, the shadow of a flier. He swallowed as he knew the wyverns would attack immediately with everything they had.

And attack they did.

Their mounts roared with rage and dove down. He saw the javelins slam into the metal armor of the carriages. Some flew incredibly low to try and swipe at these beasts, their claws briefly scraping at the metal monsters, a tactic that would have ripped men to pieces. One seemed to leave a gray mark on the green beasts, and the enemy, for the briefest instant, appeared distracted.

Then the smaller beasts on the hill unleashed smoke and death of their own, the brave fliers and their beasts being cut down just as mercilessly. Some seemed to send the same lightning-quick fireflies he’d briefly seen long ago, flying upwards right over his head at times. When those hit the wyverns, the beasts seemed to die as though it had been stabbed, but the larger ones... the puffs of smoke darkening the sky like rain clouds, often missing, popping like a party trick at a festival, almost appearing harmless.

But when they hit...

He saw the torn-apart wyvern, its rider gone, fall right next to one of the iron elephants. It didn’t even react, continuing to kill as though nothing had happened.

There was a roar in the battlefield now, a frenzy of chaos as another catapult erupted into pieces. Officers, brave men, appeared to try to hold their positions, other officers, perhaps too smart for their own good, tried repositioning what men they had.

It mattered not for the brave or intelligent.

The iron elephants killed them, blew them away, or crushed them where they stood or cowered, leaving some alive, screaming. It was brutality, a slaughter the likes of which remained unrecorded in the historical texts.

Atilla couldn't comprehend the slaughter happening.

He had seen much, and even after telling himself he could not be ready for the attacking enemy from beyond the doorway, never in his nightmares had he seen an army simply be mowed down so fast, this efficiently, this mercilessly. As the fire continued to burn and the sun rose higher into the sky, the wind briefly changed, and the accumulating smoke began to cover the enemy and his men like a fog of death, stealing them away.

And they hadn’t faced enemy infantry yet.

He ground his teeth and whirled around, grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment. Quickly, he wrote a message down and grabbed the nearest pair of officers who were looking on in frozen shock as their men were cut down like nothing.

"You two! Take this to the capital! Emperor Traianus must learn of this, and we must plan accordingly if the empire is to survive! Ride!" he shouted his order over the roar of the enemy weapons.

The officers only nodded an affirmative before running to their horses.

Atilla grabbed his blade and marched to his own horse.

"Octavius! Is the cavalry still in place?!"

The man said nothing, staring on in shock before nodding as men were cut down like nothing.

"Excellent! We’ll pull back and slow them down. You know how.” he added, glancing at his letter.

“Y-yes... general.”

“Only my men will die today, understood? Make yours die an honorable death after today.”

Agustine then said “General, you-”

“Go! Make them pay dearly for our spilled blood!"

Octavius only nodded, remaining silent as he walked away, limp slightly less noticeable. Agustine nodded, giving a weak salute before following the other general.

The thunderous explosions from the war elephants and the constant cracking of the enemy’s weapons intensified but General Atilla remained by his horse, mounting it before he went to the cavalry, his purple cape flying in the now strong winds, smoke billowing behind them as though they were about to face a fiery dragon.

He patted the loyal beast gently, a reassurance they would ride to death together. The other riders stared in stark silence as everything collapsed around them. He appreciated the obscuring smoke hiding them. He took the opportunity to turn to his men and speak.

“Follow me! We will pull back into the mountain passes and ambush the enemy when they least expect it! These cowards wish to fight dishonorably then let us show them the consequences! Are you with me?!”

There was an equally loud roar of defiance as his men lifted blades or spears.

Atilla smiled.

He waved to a soldier with a horn.

The man only nodded and sounded the call.

So, nothing more to lose, Atilla yelled as the horn sounded.

“They are but men! Not gods! The gods will reward us for this bravery and punish them for this cowardice!”

Certainly not gods…

The smoke obscured their movements as they advanced in a different direction from the battlefield. The iron elephants were following after, but unlike his nimbler horses, his men would charge through the narrow mountain passes much faster. They would eventually intercept the enemy. They would strike at their weak spot when they least expected it.

His blade would not remain dry.

Not after this.

“Forward!”

***

The M113 shook as the treads left the smooth surface of the portal’s floor and violently hit the ashen and uneven ground of the other planet’s battlefield, sending Dennis and the men inside forward and back suddenly and uncomfortably. The US Army’s “battlefield taxi” not having the best suspension made him wonder if it was to encourage guys to dismount faster or not, but that didn’t matter as they entered another world and pushed out.

It had been less climactic than he'd imagined.

No fanfare. Everyone had gone quiet. Eyes darting every which way as they drove on past... Dennis tried not to imagine what the source of the putrid smell all around them was. As the M113 pressed on, he could occasionally hear gunshots. Sudden, far away, and too far apart to be an ongoing engagement.

“Contacts?” someone asked.

The driver, an older man, shook his head.

“Mercy kills...” Rhodes muttered.

Dennis shut his eyes at the mental image, keeping them so until the driver stopped.

“Last stop, everybody out.”

No one commented, standing up and walking out as the ramp dropped open. Dennis blinked as he stepped into the sunlit field and took in the surrounding scenery. The ground was burnt black in some areas, there were craters in the distance, large and shattered rocks, burning husks of wood, crushed tents...

Bodies.

They littered the entire field they’d driven down, some recognizable, most torn apart. Bloody stains on the grassy hills and dales all the way to the portal that stood ominously in the middle of it all. Tanks and APCs kept exiting it, which was strange to see in person, the tall, almost flat box that reflected light in colorful rays with nothing behind it, Patton tanks simply rolling out like they would into a movie frame.

It would appear comical, like a practical joke reality played on some poor fool.

A small command post was already established next to an M577, men sitting inside talking on its radios, some standing around it, talking on portable radios while relaying information to other men who looked and pointed over very recently printed maps, sometimes drawing a mark on it. Distant explosions rang out and garbled voices came over the lines.

Perhaps most importantly, a whole battery of M101A1 Howitzer guns stood silently over some hills, their crews carefully setting the 105-millimeter rounds in neat stacks nearby.

"Captain Rhodes."

They followed their captain as he approached the officer, a colonel.

Immediately the man spoke, "Mountain paths go behind those trees and we believe a large contingency evacuated through there… the photos we took using that wolf broad suggest that road leads out to an area that opens up. You know what to do."

Dennis glanced towards the Howitzers, the orders unnecessary.

"Understood."

"Keep your eyes peeled, we routed most of them, but we're still taking count. There may be a group of them trying to make camp or prepare some ambushes. Watch yourselves out there."

Dennis tried not to think about the bloody ground underneath his boots as Rhodes simply said “Let’s go.”

They turned away from the hellish site and onto the rest of the valley, not far behind several other men going in the same direction it seemed.

For a moment, no one spoke as they moved towards the massive wall of trees and rock of the mountain range in the rest of the picturesque valley. Untouched by man in most areas, it seemed. Some distant trees still had a faint layer of mist over them as the sun finally reached and heated the water droplets from the morning’s dew.

Their radioman, Alex, perhaps trying to make conversation as they began to move outside the wire, said “Huh, looks like Borjomi with the mist on the trees, doesn’t it?”

Dennis said nothing.

One of the other men, Tom, said, “Looks more like Italy to me, don’t it, Captain?”

“Haven’t been. Most I’ve seen of the world is Korea and Japan.”

Dennis remained silent, the grip on his rifle relaxing as they stepped on drier grass and rockier ground.

Alex quickly said “You saw how scorched that field was? That wasn’t us.”

“Yeah, the Romans tried using some fire against the tanks.”

“Romans had... what, ancient flame throwers?”

It was Sean who spoke up then.

“No. I think they just used arrows on fire, maybe covered the hill in some kind of primitive gas to try and burn any incursion down. Course, tanks don’t really care about that.”

Rhodes said “Don’t count on it. Russians used fire to great effect against German tanks... and keep in mind, there’s another factor to consider in this other world.”

Sean chortled, saying “Magic, right... feels childish to consider, captain.”

“Considering the quirks of the land you’re in is a vital part. We’re not in Kansas anymore, as they say. We’re in their turf now… let’s go.”

Dennis shuddered as they stepped “outside the wire”, marked by a pair of M113s standing by, 50 caliber machine guns at the ready. Gasoline engines and fire mixed too well for the enemy’s convenience.

If they could control fire in some way...

Not that thinking about it mattered much now.

They began walking up a somewhat steep pass up the mountain, gravel and sharp pebbles crumbling under their feet as they walked up, the trees disappearing, replaced by shorter plants he didn’t recognize. A bird or two flew out of some of the brush as they approached.

Glancing at what might have been a mouse, Dennis briefly saw a telltale sign of the enemy.

Horse droppings.

No one commented, continuing to walk up the road, but Dennis felt the gears in his head beginning to turn. He glanced behind him slightly, seeing the freckled face of Stilwell Thompson. Preferably, just “Tom”. The tall twenty-something-year-old was lugging around an M60 over his shoulder, his eyes darting behind them every now and then as well. The man looked like a farm guy. He kept glancing behind back at the piles of bodies still visible in the fields behind but with a different expression. More studious, as if trying to solve a problem. Dennis could only assume what he was thinking, but he had a different thought in mind that he could presume was about the same.

Where are all their horses?

Surely these Romanesque forces had cavalry to go with, right? He hadn’t seen any dead horses amongst the bodies, so where had they gone?

He remembered then that they were supposed to be chasing down an army of them.

The thought remained on his mind and they kept walking without speaking. Their light infantry escort graciously kept quiet as they trekked up the mountain pass.

As they kept climbing up, Dennis glanced behind him briefly, the top of the portal surrounded by corpses could still be seen but even at only a slightly higher elevation, he could appreciate just how massive the area they were in truly was. The mountains behind the portal spread from horizon to horizon, jagged peaks riddled with grey stones that pointed at the blue sky above standing ominously in the distance, foreboding. As though they were surrounded even now. Each peak a perfect hiding spot for an ambush, every corner in the road a possible trap…

He shook away the thought and kept moving.

Engineers are going to have a hell of a time blasting a road out…

He wasn’t entirely sure how far they’d gone when Rhodes stopped suddenly.

Dennis and the others mirrored him entirely on instinct. They all quickly ducked down, getting on their knees, almost in unison, looking up and around them, nearby jagged cliffs making for excellent fire positions, even for ancient bowmen.

Perhaps most unnerving was how quiet everything suddenly got.

Dennis could hear no birds.

No wildlife.

Almost no sound.

He felt his heart rate accelerate and tightly gripped his rifle, quickly making sure the safety was off. The softest blow of the wind got his attention. Every misshapen shadow in the distance appeared like a person. The small bushes and weeds could have been a hidden enemy waiting to pounce.

Rhodes silently nodded behind them and they began to creep forward.

Then and only then, almost at the very top of the road, did Dennis begin to hear them. It was faint. Far away and sounded more like an echo, but it was there.

They peeked over the top and saw them.

Horses.

A lot of horses.

Their riders were already on foot, pulling them along, already at the bottom of the mountain and starting the trek up the next. He could just faintly hear the officers shouting orders as the mass moved shockingly efficiently up the far steeper road, their horses obediently doing as told.

Rhodes whispered “Alex... Radio.”

Matthew Alexander shuffled forward over the rocky terrain almost silently, keeping his head down and his M16 only slightly lower than the others.

Taking the radio as well as his binoculars, Rhodes quietly whispered “Alpha, this is Dagger Two... we have contact, enemy force appears at battalion strength, we are requesting fire mission, over.”

“Copy, Dagger Two, send it.” the radio crackled with the FDC’s voice.

“Grid Coordinates...” Rhodes frowned as he read them, as if still somewhat unsure if the reference coordinates were accurate, but read them regardless, “Two-seven-zero, one-seven-four. Friendlies a thousand yards north; may need to adjust fire.”

“Copy, sending one round. Sixty seconds.”

While this happened, Dennis reached for his binoculars and eyed the enemy force, studying their armor, their weapons, all eerily precise to what he’d seen in the books. Colorful capes, mainly red, polished armor and helmets that glinted the light from the very familiar sun above. It almost looked like a mass of shiny ants or beetles.

“Shot, over.” came the cold reply over the radio’s telephone-like handset.

“Shot, out.”

“Jesus... look at them all bunched up like that...” Tom muttered, lowering the bipod and laying his M60 on the gravel they were all laying prone on, waiting for the inevitable as they heard the explosion behind them.

He could imagine the soldiers below heard the whistling high above as the round began to approach, or better put were already overhead as artillery rounds moved faster than sound. At the very least they noticed something, various glancing up and moving out of the way.

The round slammed right over the majority of the Romanesque soldiers, rocks and stones lifted high into the air as the 105-millimeter round impacted and those that weren’t in the immediate area of impact were simply thrown aside like toy soldiers being tossed out of a bag.

Captain Rhodes opened his eyes wide and said “Spot on! Fire for effect!”

Dennis heard the distant thunder of artillery behind them, then the whistling of the rounds above.

He forced his eyes to remain open as it, for a brief second, seemed like the Romans below had realized what was happening, many whirling around and some suddenly trying to move faster up the mountain.

One in particular, a man with a purple cape, tried urging them on, Dennis saw. He was about to speak up about it, seeing the officer was a priority target but it didn’t matter.

His words wouldn’t save any of them.

The 105-millimeter rounds didn’t feel empathy as they rained death into the mass of bodies below. Several were airbursts, exploding above the mass of soldiers and pounding the ground with shrapnel that tore bodies apart, crushing them into the ground beneath. Others just hit and exploded in a cloud of smoke and rock that would dissipate to reveal the cratered ground and mangled remains of what had once been people.

Dennis watched on as more rounds slammed into what was left of the cavalry below. The screams reached him as the main wave of rounds slammed the mountainside and shook the ground. He wondered what was louder, the screams of the horses that weren’t yet dead or the men.

Then only silence as the third wave of rounds hit and everything was silent again.

“Spot on, sergeant...” Rhodes replied dispassionately.

“Christ almighty, they didn’t even have a chance.” Sean breathed.

Rhodes nodded.

Tom scoffed, slight anger in his voice as he said “Serves ‘em right... no one forced them to start a war with us.”

Rhodes only stood back up, saying “Let’s go... maybe there’s a prisoner or two we can take...”

No one spoke, eyeing the smoldering ground below.

Dennis swallowed, putting away his binoculars after seeing one intact corpse lying motionlessly on the ground.

Its purple cape was stained with crimson blood.

A leader and his entire battalion, gone.

Just like that.

As the sound of the howitzers firing echoed in the distance, likely due to other long-range teams spotting enemy forces, he wondered how many more battalions would be swallowed up before the war came to an end.