OOC- Sorry, but I just have to laugh at the OOC talk between Sander and Syphon. Reminds me of a Three Stooges bit.
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Dante stared at the old man sitting across from him across the tent. The sight of him made him feel thankful and angry at the same time. The scars crisscrossing the man’s back were vicious and drew the eyes. Finally, the Blade sighed and said, “Welcome, brother. Your presence brings much…joy.”
The thin Blade elder, hunched over his seat and wrapped in blankets, smiled thinly. “I doubt that. Judging from your eyes, I can see you already want revenge. Quaint.”
The rescued Blade elder’s name was Joaquin. He was among the forty elders in the encampment near Tabis. Recently, he was rescued by Kino, Dante’s nephew, and promptly returned to the camp. The rest of the guerrilla groups had also returned.
After tending his wounds with medicinal salve and a few hours of rest, Joaquin now sat in the Elder’s tent. No other Blades had been allowed to enter. A kettle of tea was heating in a dull fire in front of them. Joaquin warmed his hands against the coals and sighed.
“Here,” said Dante, pulling the iron kettle of its brazier and pouring a liberal amount into two dented cups. The steam rose delightfully and the air was filled with an herbal fragrance. He handed one cup to Joaquin and nursed his own, sloshing it around.
The other Blade elder took a tentative sip and whispered, “Ahh.” He smiled, looking up at Dante. “This is a lot better than the piss the slavers gave me.”
“Thank you,” said Dante and Joaquin laughed loudly, straining his vocal cords. He watched the recovering man sip his tea in silence. The Blade elder didn’t know how to broach the subject so he let Joaquin enjoy his drink. The scrawny man certainly deserved it.
When two Blade elders spoke with each other, they could address each other with their personal name. They didn’t need to use the title of elder or brother. However, it is simply good etiquette to address the eldest as an elder. And Joaquin, with his scores of wrinkles, was certainly the oldest. So Dante began: “Elder, I ask your counsel.”
Joaquin raised his eyebrows and whispered, “Ayuh.” Dante had chosen the tea for a reason: he had heard the strain of throat in the other elder’s voice and the herbs would soothe them. Joaquin poured himself another cup and took a long drink. Finally, having sating his thirst, he set the cup onto the floor and sat up in his blankets. Sitting up, fully attentive now. “And well you should. Troubling times ahead of us, Dante. For all of the Blades and for the Fatherland.”
Dante inclined his forehead, raising his the palms of his hands up in agreement. “Yes, Elder. And the only way to combat troubled times is with knowledge. Only this time, we cannot sit back contently in our monasteries with our tomes like we had in the Dark Ages. I fear that what comes next may trouble the whole world.”
Joaquin shrugged amiably, the blankets drooping over his shoulders. “That has been said before, brother. We heard it with the plague, the barbarian invasions, and the nuclear bombings. But when something concerned the ‘whole world’, the Blades have always survived.”
“But only by discretion and keeping to ourselves,” rejoined Dante, softly. “That is not true survival.” It was by pure reflex that he address the older man with diplomacy and respect; you had to be careful when speaking to your elders. “In the past, we were the Knight Templars during the Crusades. We had been only able to survive the modern world by hiding in the temples and praying. But when we emerged, after the bombs had dropped, we became the Fraternity of the Blades. We were still a brotherhood but now we took initiative. No longer did we content ourselves in tomes; now we carry blades.”
“That is all well and good, Dante, but time has always changed our lifestyles. Back in the days of our Templars ancestors, when they were at the height of their power, we were deposed as heretics by the Church, which we fought to defend. The Templars fell, as was bound to happen amidst numerous enemies, but they lived on in secrecy. Now, as the Blades, we stand at the height of our power. Can we risk another fall and recession for the people who slew our ancestors?”
Dante lowered his head. It was the Blades’ old way of thinking. Alienation towards the world, satisfaction of staying within their own affairs. Most of the Blade elders preferred the ideals of the latter-day Templars and that idealogy was the main reason why the Blades were seen as so distant.
“That is unfair,” quipped Dante. “It’s a new age, now. We’ve given up on the church but not the people. Besides, there is safety in numbers. If we cannot band with the townspeople, we might not be able to surmount the coming threat.”
“Have faith,” Joaquin said judiciously, sitting back. “Have faith in your brothers and the Fatherland and we shall overcome.” Once again, falling back on the old monastic mentality.
Dante frowned, trying to get his point across to the resolute man. He raised his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Take the people of Grey Cliffs, for example. They are not like the people of Tabis. They are willing to fight, to help in the defense. Some of these men would make honorable Blades.”
Joaquin thought for a second and then nodded. “Ayuh, these are the people we’ll fight for. But a camp of twenty men is all we can spare. We were wrong to set up a camp of four hundred men to defend Tabis. Now, we must reinforce the Fatherland.”
“And the best defense is if we establish a viable buffer zone against whatever is coming next. To do that we must strengthen the towns.”
Joaquin frowned and leaned in. “One town was nearly destroyed. Four hundred Blades could do nothing. From what I’ve seen, we’ve already done enough for Grey Cliffs. Now we must turn to the duty at hand: rescuing the rest of the elders.”
The Blade leader of Grey Cliffs sighed inwardly. He could not sway Joaquin, at least idealistically. And he agreed that the best course of action would be freeing his fellow Blades. “Very well, Elder. I concede to your point.”
Joaquin grunted and downed the rest of his tea, swallowing bitterly. “Good. Now, tell me about the camp.” He glanced down at the maps stretched out in front of him.
Dante nodded. He was still the leading elder but it would be useful to gain consent and assistance. Gesturing to the map, he said, “I’ve outlined the position of our camp. We are currently located on top of a downgrading hill, the only possibly path up to Grey Cliffs. The settlement of Grey Cliffs itself is imbedded into the rock face of the cliffs. Nothing short of climbing the jagged rocks would allow unauthorized entrance.”
“At least these people have common sense,” Joaquin said in agreement. “Not like those fools who build their towns out in the open, just begging for attention from the raiders.”
Dante went on: “We’ve got the only possible path up to Grey Cliffs well defended. The path along the base of the hill is pockmarked with six feet deep trenches, twenty in all. We’ve scattered caltrops underneath the soil to further hamper movement. On top of the hill, we’ve got five pillboxes with two M-60 machineguns in each.”
“How much ammunition do you have?” interrupted Joaquin.
“We’ve got four one-hundred belts of ammunition for each machinegun. So four thousand rounds of 7.62 NATO. Also, the local smith has crafted an extra barrel for each machinegun just in case the original overheats.”
“Go on,” Joaquin nodded.
“The machineguns have been mounted on swivel bipods inside the pillboxes. On a downgraded plane, there’s little chance for them to miss. The pillboxes have been strategically spaced so that the ten machineguns’ cone of fire will cover the entire hill.” Dante pointed at the five circles on the map, indicating the pillboxes.
“In the Tome of History,” remarked Joaquin, “there speaks of a conflict called the War of Vietnam. History has told us that the M-60 machinegun is unreliable during a sustained period of fire. Personally, with my experience with the gun, I’ve seen it overheat or jam even before one hundred rounds could pass through.”
“What do you recommend, Elder?” Dante asked. He and his men had no prior experience with the machineguns and he was glad that Joaquin did.
“Timed burst, Dante. Have one man signal a period of fire that lasts ten seconds, at most. That way, you allow the barrel to cool down during the intervals and you preserve ammunition. The M-60 is not a weapon suited for laying down a constant stream of bullets.”
It made sense and Dante planned to have one of the younger Blades assigned to the signaling. The Blade leader went on: “Around the hill, we’ve twelve mortar tubes with angles preset to cover al areas of the hill. I’ve assigned one man for every three mortar tube and they’ve been trained to fire eighteen rockets per minute. We’ve allowed the town’s blacksmith and gunsmith to read the Tome of War and they’ve begun constructing and abundance of very light explosive rounds.”
Joaquin furrowed his eyebrows in disapproval. “The fragmentation radius of a light explosive mortar is at least twenty-five yards. If you aim them at the hill, you risk injuring your own men.”
“We’ve planned for that. The gunsmith has concocted a reasonable payload of an average hand grenade for each mortar rocket. He’s designed the mortars with supple steel that will explode on contact, showering a five-foot radius of fragmentation. In addition, a chemist has designed white-phosphorous mortar tubes. Besides a blinding effect, the mortar has a potential of dealing first-degree burns if the exploding phosphorous comes within contact of human flesh.”
“The people of Grey Cliffs are warriors!” shouted Joaquin gleefully. He smiled at their ingenuity, leaning in close. Pointing at a large red in the center of the defenses, he said, “Now explain this to me.”
“That is the recoilless rifle, Elder.” Dante picked up a leather-bound book with the words “Tome of War” emblazoned on its cover. He flipped to a book-marked page and showed the diagram of six-foot long tube to Joaquin.
The other elder pushed the book away dismissively. “I know what a recoilless rifle is. What I want to know is how you’ve come by with such a weapon.”
“My nephew, Kino, and his guerillas captured it from a caravan headed for the enemy’s camp. He is the one who rescued you.”
Joaquin nodded. “Your nephew is a great warrior, Dante.”
Dante, who realized that Joaquin was paying the best of respect, beamed in pride. He pointed back to the map and said, “We plan to use the recoilless rifle once the enemy has gotten too close for us to use our mortars. Though the machineguns should keep any charging man at bay, the recoilless rifle will stop any concentrated blitzkrieg rush. Our smith, bless his sole, his hard at work constructing shells.”
“But despite all your artillery, Dante, man-to-man fighting is bound to happen. What arms do you have for your men?”
“We are dismally limited on any infantry weapons, Elder. Without assault rifles, we will be severely hampered. Hopefully, our skill will make do for the lack of our weapons.” Dante shrugged, taking out a list of his supplies. “Each of my men are armed with an M1 rifle with mounted scopes but carry only two clips of ammo. The machine gunners who won’t be using their rifles are armed with rudimentary zip guns, just in case.”
“That will have to do. I’ve seen how our enemy operates at any concentrated resistance will throw them off guard.” There was a secret glowering fire blazing in Joaquin’s eyes and he talked in guarded tones, almost contemptuous.
Dante’s interest was piqued. “Can you tell me of this enemy?” he asked softly.
Without preamble, Joaquin began: “They are called the League of the Four Horsemen. Sometimes just the League. Besides their name, that is all I could glean. I know nothing about their motives. While I was under captivity, I saw that the heart of their forces consist of a loose coalition between raider clans and the Slavers Guild.” He blinked, looking at Dante. “I suppose you want to hear how such a force could destroy a camp of four hundred Blades.”
Dante nodded.
The other elder sighed heavily. “We were encamped several miles outside of Tabis. Far enough to keep to ourselves but close enough to come to aid. Remember, we were originally sent to keep watch. The lack of raider attacks seemed suspicious, hence the four hundred men. We knew that the raiders were planning something.”
Dante nodded again, keeping silent. He saw how Joaquin stared out into the distance and did not interrupt the man.
“But for months, nothing happened. We kept watch but there was nothing to watch. So we radioed the Fatherland, requesting a recall. And, can you believe it, the Fatherland agreed to send us back.”
“But you didn’t return right away?” breathed Dante.
Joaquin shook his head imperceptivity. “No. It would have meant a waste of four months if we had. The Blade elders and I held council and we decided that we needed to check up on Tabis, make sure it was stable internally. One elder volunteered to go into town and we allowed him to.”
“Caleb Rutgers?” Dante asked softly.
The old Blade whipped his head around, staring Dante full in the eye. “How did you know?” he asked sharply.
“My scouts have received word that our brother is still alive. There have been rumors of a Blade leading Tabis’s freedom fighters in resistance against both the raider and slaver invasion.”
Joaquin was silent, digesting the information. Finally he breathed a sigh of relief. “It eases me to know that he is at least alive. We had no contact with him. I had no way of knowing if he was dead or alive.”
“So what happened after that?” Dante probed.
“Shortly after Caleb left, our scouts began seeing signs of activity around Tabis. Perhaps three days, enough time for Caleb to get into town, we saw great explosions from the junkyard. Apparently, a battle was going on within Tabis. I wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb was in the midst of it.”
Dante grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised, either, Elder.”
Joaquin went on: “We were about to send some men to help Tabis when we were attacked. It was a minor raider clan, easily dealt with. But they kept us busy, which I guess was the plan all along. The raiders kept coming, an inexhaustible force. We didn’t worry much because it was a change of routine. We were actually fighting, after four months of idleness. And, as I’ve said, they were easily dealt with. But the fighting stretched on and the sun was dropping when we realized our folly.”
“What happened?” Dante asked, almost breathless.
“The sun was blotted out,” Joaquin said simply. “We stopped in the midst of our fighting, our fingers off our triggers. There was a constant, eerie whirling noise, Dante, like nothing I had ever heard before. I looked up and saw the outline of gigantic carrion birds flying high in the sky, hidden by the canopy of the sun. There were dozens of them, enough to spread a shade over the entire camp.”
Joaquin paused, looking down at his lap. He shifted his blankets over his shoulder and sighed. “I didn’t know what was happening,” he went on, “but there was an ominous feeling in the air. The raiders finally stopped, running away at the sight of the birds. We lowered our weapons, staring upwards with transfixed eyes. Then dust fell from the sky.”
Dante sat back. “Dust?” he said out loud, voicing his confusion.
“Dust, Dante. But only, it was not like the coarse grains of sand. It was orange, almost scarlet in tone, and it drifted down upon us. No one ran because it was only dust. But then, something horrible happened, Dante. The dust landed on some of the Blades and they brushed it off. But as their flesh came into contact with the miniscule particles, they began screaming. I watched in horror as the dust burnt them like fire, eating away at them like acid. All around, Blades were succumbing to simple specks of dust.”
Dante was silent, imagining the sight in horror.
Joaquin didn’t stop. “The elders and I realized what was happening. We knew that somehow, the dust was killing our brothers. We covered up every inch of skin with our serapes and wrapped our mouths with our masks so we wouldn’t breath in the dust. Before we the other Blades could follow our example, half the camp was lying on the ground, screaming in agony.” The Blade averted his eyes. “We did our duty that day, Dante. We saw our brothers dying a slow death and we hastened it. Death was a mercy to them on that day.”
“Dominus Deus,” breathed Dante in terror.
“The birds began drifting away, Dante,” Joaquin said earnestly. “There was enough time for us to run away. But we were so paralyzed in horror that we could not. Half of the score of birds left but some remained. I saw them and I knew something was going to happen. Alas, I was too dumbfounded to do something about it. To our alarm, more dust started falling. Only this dust was not the orange acidic dust. This variant was colorless and odorless. Except we knew that more dust was falling. And, in a way, this dust was more sinister. We started dropping off our feet, one by one. At first, I thought that it was killing us but I saw that my brothers were only sleeping. Soon, nearly the rest of the camp was falling into a dreadful slumber. I was the last to fall asleep. And before my eyelids dropped, I saw the raiders return, armed with knives.”
Dante was silent because he knew the rest of the story. All the Blades had been killed, except for the forty Blade elders who were being carted around like animals.
And silently, Dante vowed that he would not only free his imprisoned brothers but also avenge his fallen brothers.
