Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (20 page)

Balthazaar reached out to the big Delta Force soldier. ‘She will not be allowed to die, she…’

Samson shrugged him off and turned to the squad.

‘Hanson, with me. We gotta hold for forty-eight hours. Then, with or without the boss, we head home. Understood?’

The powerful looking young soldier nodded. ‘You got it. We’ll be home for a beer and burger long before then.’ They bumped fists.

Teacher was checking his weapons as a panicked looking Balthazaar stepped in front of him. ‘I cannot stop you. All I can hope is that the Panterran think that the warriors left here are all of your war party. It may give you the time you need to get the Arnoddr back home.’

Teacher put his hand on the Wolfen’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about us. But what about you? Will you come with us?’

The old Wolfen shook his head. ‘No, I’ll head back to the castle. I will be more value to the Wolfen resistance, if there ever is one.’ He grabbed Teacher’s hands in his and looked into his eyes. Teacher felt his very soul was being laid bare by the intense pale gaze.

‘You are a fighter, and I can see by the scars that your life has been brutal when it had needed to be. This will test you, and all your warriors.’ He smiled. ‘May Odin watch over you.’ He went to step back, but stopped and reached into his robe once more and produced more of the polished stones.

‘Take these – the Panterran will not expect you to understand their language. Every advantage you possess will now be critical’.

Teacher took the five stones. He handed one each to his own small team. Alison Sharp held it up, looking into its colored depths suspiciously.

Teacher nudged her. ‘Down the hatch, Sharp, then we leave.’

She tossed it in her mouth.

*

Hanson looked up. ‘Going to be dark soon.’

Samson grunted and continued to watch as the point runners came back in. They had planted sticky mines along anything that even looked like a trail. Thermal monitors were deployed, this time bolstered by motion sensors – nothing was walking in on them, or creeping in under blankets unannounced, without a loud bang.

The Deltas had taken up defensive positions in a stand of trees. They had chosen the site because there was excellent cover, and an open clearing around them. They had spent several minutes removing more of the brush to give them an uninterrupted field of fire. In addition, they had left a
scoot-chute – a corridor twenty feet wide behind them. Mined, but they knew where to land their feet, even at speed, if need be.

Samson had deployed his remaining thirty-two Delta Force members in three operative units at the tree line. He, Hanson and six bodies at the centre, with a string line of soldiers branching forward on both the left and right – three fields of fire, none overlapping – just one big mother of a killing zone.

Samson stayed low and pulled a scope down over one eye, and looked first along the trails – nothing moving. Then along his own squad line. Like him, they were down low, muzzles ready. He felt confident; each man or woman had enough firepower to level a building.

Hit’m hard and fast, take the starch right outta them, and make them rethink their tactics.
Once he gave them a bloody nose, and thrown a bit of doubt and confusion into them, they’d move in. The horns of his steer would extend, and eventually close. Then the head would move forward to drive a spike right down their throat.  They’d engaged them before – they were big, but they were still just flesh.  Samson felt good, looking forward to the killing. He looked at his watch. It’d be a walk in the park.

‘Sensor two just got tripped.’ Hanson’s voice was hushed, but calm in his ear.

‘Roger that. Okay people, hold until we have contact.’ Samson got down lower, just his muzzle and eyes showing around the tree trunk. He knew his team would be doing the same.

‘Sensor three tripped, sensor four, five… here they come.’

Samson heard the motion sensor numbers counting down and waited, breathing easily.

‘Contact.’

Samson’s finger reflexively tightened on the trigger of his skeletal black gun when from the tree line ahead, an array of animals burst free. Things, ankle and knee high, hopping, or scurrying along the ground towards them. In amongst them, larger creatures – a type of deer with strange green antlers, pig things with six legs and armor plating, snakes with centipede legs; all of them came at the Deltas like a rushing battalion of squawking, squeaking fear-maddened children.

Great time for a freakin’ stampede
, he thought as he pulled back to allow one of the beasts to charge by him. His jaws clenched as he continued to watch the far tree line. Fact was, something must have frightened all that game into its collective movement, and that something was coming up behind the animals.

‘Stay frosty, people.’

The forest fell silent as all the animals disappeared behind them, and then the last rays of sunlight overhead darkened as if a thick cloud was passing across the face of the sun. Samson looked up and swore.

‘Get down, we got arrow shot.’

The mass of arrows dropped from the sky like a flock of angry needle-sharp birds. The shredding, whipping sound they made as they passed through leaves above was like a heavy hailstorm. This was immediately followed by the sound of steel tips on wood, stone, earth, and also flesh.

Swearing filled the air, and Samson came back upright from his cover position, and noticed a short black arrow sticking up out of his shoulder. He ripped it free, and glanced at the tip – fire hardened iron, and razor sharp. It hadn’t sunk far into his flesh, becoming wedged in a join of the ceramic plates of his combat armor.

He put his back to the tree, and yelled over his shoulder. ‘Sound off.’ Every squad member had a number, and they knew to give the call sign in the proper order – a code letter after the number indicated their operational capacity after an attack: one-a, meant fully operational, one-b, they’d taken dents, and one-c, meaning significant injury. A no reply usually meant you were out cold or dead.

Two replies were missing. Bottom line, arrows didn’t knock you out, they made you dead. Samson swore, and turned back to the front just as there was a thundering crash and a projectile flew out of the forest and exploded into the tree trunk above him. Branches rained down, and he chanced a brief look. He felt a chill run up his spine – it was an axe, as big as he was.

‘Jesus.’ The first axe was soon followed by many more. The missiles were heavy, and by the sound of the pained screams, some struck home. The forward tree-line shook and Samson sucked in a huge breath and roared his warning. ‘Here they come!’

Giant orange and black bodies broke cover, and charged. Samson estimated around fifty of the giant Lygon, as Balthazaar had called them. He sighted along the short black barrel, breathing easily, cool as an ice cube; this was what he trained for. He and his fellow Delta acted as one. He gently squeezed the trigger, and at the same time other automatics around him did the same.

The massive creatures head’s punched backwards as pieces of their thick furred skulls blew away from their heads. Few if any made it more than two thirds across the clearing, and their giant bodies began to stack up like a natural barricade. Beside him, Hanson loaded a grenade into the launcher under his barrel and fired, the projectile leaving a trail of vapor as it flew into the thick brush and exploded in a ball of shredded plants and dirty smoke.

The big trees rained leaves and small branches down over his targeted site for a few moments.

‘Cease fire.’ They waited and watched. Nothing came out of the forest but silence.

‘Hold your position. Eyes out ladies and gentlemen.’ He waited, feeling a spot of perspiration on his temple, even though the temperature was quite cool. He wished the old Wolfen guy was still with them. He desperately wanted to ask what would happen next – this was definitely not something from any Earthly military textbook.

A voice came out of the far forest line. “Delta squad, lower your weapons, I’m coming in.’

A figure stepped out. ‘What the f…’ Samson slowly lifted his head from the rifle sight and stared with his mouth hanging open.

‘Hold your fire.’ He lowered his gun, but confusion creased his brow.

*

‘
Colonel? Colonel Briggs is that you?’

‘Stay your weapons, all of you. I’m coming in. You put a boot up their ass, and they’ve run for the hills – well done. We need to talk tactics, then arrange to enter the castle to save the others.’

Samson whispered into his comm. unit. ‘Miller, Franklin, bring the colonel in. Leave your mic open. The rest of you stay down and stay focused.’

Miller turned to Franklin, and pointed out to his left-side flank. The two men stepped up and out of concealment. Both had their guns at their waist. The walked forward slowly, pausing every few steps to scan the foliage from the sides and ahead. Briggs had her head down and half tilted as if she were listening to something or someone.

Miller approached to within ten feet of her. ‘You okay, Colonel?’

Briggs only half lifted her head and started to approach. She looked along the skirmish line of the Delta team. Her face was expressionless. ‘Is everyone here?’

Miller rubbed his head. ‘Good to see you ma’am; we thought you’
d been captured. Where’s Jackson?’

Briggs kept coming, walking in a strange side-on gait. Miller and Franklin slowed as they came to within a few feet of their superior officer. She still hadn’t lifted her head, but when she spoke it sounded if the words came from an empty tunnel.

‘Is everyone here?’

Miller and Franklin looked at each other. Miller leaned forward, trying to see her face. ‘No ma’am. The Captain sent Teacher and a team out to bring the boy back.’

‘The Arnoddr Man-kind… from the Dark Lands?’

‘Huh? You mean Singer? Yeah, that’s right. This old wolf thing appeared and told us where he was.’

‘Old… wolf… thing – a Wolfen?’ Her face twisted as though she was hearing something deafening. ‘Where… where, did it come from?’ Briggs’ eyes were screwed shut as though she was wracked with migraine. Suddenly, her face dropped and her eyes opened.

‘Have the team assemble immediately, we need to take a head count.’

Miller put his finger to his ear, listening to Samson. Then turned back to his commanding officer. ‘Samson says not a good idea ma’am. Hostiles could still be in the area and we are under extreme risk. We should take cover as well.’ He held out his hand and half turned.

‘By the way, you said others in the castle. You’ve been there?’

Briggs looked distracted. ‘The other… Man-Kind.’

‘Man-kind? What the hell does that…’

Miller stopped to listen to Samson again. He turned to Franklin. ‘Something’s not right.’ Miller reached out to grip the colonel’s arm.

Briggs lifted her face at last. Her eyes were half rolled back in her head, and there was snot running from
her nose. She could have been asleep except for the movements of her body.

‘Ma’am, are you sick?’ Miller stepped back.

Briggs eyes dropped and finally found him. Her arm came up too fast for him to react. She held a handgun and released two rounds. Miller and Franklin both went down hard.  As if on cue, a nightmare materialized around the Delta team as small bodies dropped from the trees, landing amongst the soldiers. Behind Colonel Briggs, the foliage parted and a second wave of giant orange and black bodies boiled forth.

Chapter 24

Great Odin, Give Me Patience

Sorenson climbed higher and lay flat on a tree limb that was three times wider than he was. He calmed his breathing and gradually peered over the edge. A hundred feet below the line of Panterran and Lygon snaked along the jungle floor. He counted them off – less than the day before – the jungle slowly paring them back, but still a formidable force, numbering about two dozen.

He couldn’t understand why Bergborr was leading them… and seemed at ease with them.
Why didn’t he fight or try to flee?
he wondered. Instead, he was using his tracking skills to follow the path of the Man-Kind and Grimson.

The line of creatures continued to pass beneath him, and he carefully began to shift in preparation to move on to the next limb. He slid forward, and stopped – he was stuck. Sorenson looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes went wide. Squatting over his lower body was a many-legged creature that was half as long as he was. Multiple eyes regarded him dispassionately, as it continued to spin more and more webbing to encase his lower body. The sticky substance glued him down, and by the look of the large fangs on either side of its mouth, he guessed that once he was totally incapacitated, they would be put to use.

Sorenson reached over his shoulder and pulled free his sword, planning to slash backwards and cleave the thing in two, but he paused. If he killed the thing and it plummeted to the ground, what would the Panterran make of a fallen body, killed by a sword slice?
Great Odin, give me patience.
He gritted his teeth, watched and waited.

His legs got heavier, as the creature moved further along his body, spraying the sticky substance onto his thighs. It would soon coat his lower back. If his arms were rendered useless, he’d be dead. He peered back over the edge of the tree limb – the Panterran were gone, but the slow moving Lygon were still passing beneath him. He cursed and quickly turned back to the thing as he felt its needle-like legs on his buttocks. He bared his teeth at it, but the glass-like eyes regarded him without fear, and continued on with its task of sticking down its next meal. With the thing closer, Sorenson could clearly see the wickedly sharp mandibles, and guessed they would inject him with venom, and suck the juices from his body, while he was alive, and immobile.