Destiny (17 page)

Chapter
Twenty-One

Location Earth / Sean MacRory:

Sean had just sat down at the small table in the bridge with a copy of the Book of Ukko and a steaming cup of hot tea when he suddenly froze with his head cocked to the side listening intently. For a second he was unsure if it was his imagination or not. The sound seemed to be just on the edge of his hearing.

Seconds ticked by as Sean sat there unmoving as his eyes slowly drifted towards the cooling cup of tea sitting on the table. Almost imperceptibly he felt the throbbing steadily increase through the soles of his boots as his sixth sense began screaming out in warning. He could feel it in his bones. Something wasn’t right.

Rising to his feet troubled, Sean was unaware of the small metal chair skittering across the floor as he grabbed up the binoculars next to him before moving towards the front of the bridge. Standing in front of the thick windows of the deckhouse he slowly lifted the eyecups to his eyes scanning the horizon.

The males of his lineage always had a predilection for sensing trouble before it happened. A trait that had helped his mercenary ancestors throughout the ages, if the family history of the Clan could be believed. Normally the premonitions came with only seconds to spare, but in most situations that was usually enough to survive.

Some said the MacRory’s carried the luck of the Irish. Sean grimaced silently at the ironic phrase. The only luck his people ever had was bad luck, especially when it was in the disguise of something good. It was told that his great-grandfather had survived the blitz of nineteen forty-one when he suddenly awoke in the middle of the night from a sound sleep. Grabbing his family, he’d dragged them to the closest bomb shelter just as the first bombs fell on Belfast. Although the family survived that fateful night, his great-grandfather had died at the end of the war by drinking himself to death from depression due to the loss of the family fortune and the failed economy that never recovered.

His grandfather had a similar story. After escaping death time after time while fighting with the Seventh Armored Division against the Germans in the North Africa Campaign during World War Two. He’d returned home only to lose everything for supporting Fianna Fáil during the Irish general elections in nineteen forty-eight.

Although his father had fought hard against the Irish curse, his story hadn’t ended much better. In the recent history of the Clan, father had done better than most of his relatives to improve their lot in life. While most of the Clan refused to believe that a curse had been laid against their lineage, Sean knew better. He’d felt its touch his whole life growing up as a Protestant in Catholic controlled Belfast. Even though is childhood had been hard, it paled in comparison to the troubles he’d experienced as a young man after the Social Democratic and Labor Party took control of Ireland in the late nineties. Unlike his grandfather, Sean didn’t lose the shirt off of his back, nor did he drink himself into a grave. Instead, he faced it down as his father had refusing to give in. Those times had been hard, but he was a born survivor. What didn’t break him only made him stronger.

Unbelievably enough, things had started looking up for both him and his Clan. Even in these tough economic times when there seemed to be no money to be made, they were surprisingly prospering. Thinking about the book he’d left on the table, Sean couldn’t help but smile. Ever since the entire Gallowglass Clan had converted to Ukkodians things had started changing for the better. Still, he was always wary of the luck of the Irish rearing its ugly head.

Sean jumped as three sonic blast waves shook the heavy windows of the deckhouse in quick succession as a formation of fighter jets flew low across the length of the island. One glance told him they were armed to the teeth. A second later he heard the distinctive chop of approaching helicopters as the ships radar suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree with the thick yellow bands of multiple contacts approaching from the air and sea. He swept the binoculars towards the ridge of the island as four separate wings of sleek Cobra attack helicopters screamed over the top of Santorini in a tight combat formation.

Like a pack of deadly wolves, they hit the lagoon at a height of about twenty meters above the water’s surface on a fast approach path. Nearing the edge of the island, they suddenly split off into four separate wings as they quickly fanned out around Nea Kameni, before coming to a stop in what was obviously predestinated control points.

A moment later, Sean’s eyes were drawn back towards Santorini once again as an even louder throbbing sound filled the air. Hugging the contours of the island a large wing of slower moving helicopters crested the ridge. He easily recognized the familiar incoming shapes of the much slower Sikorsky Seahawk assault helicopters as they spread out into tight V formation headed towards the lagoon. Looking like something right out of the movie Apocalypse Now, the birds bristled with mounted machine guns and missile pods that protruded from their rounded sides as they speed towards Nea Kameni twenty strong.

For a long moment, Sean could only watch in stunned amazement as the Seahawks took a shortest approach path before settling down on the island. Within seconds squads of combat marines were pouring out across the island. Focusing his binoculars on the shoulder patches of the soldiers, Sean immediately recognized the familiar red, white and blue of the Americans. Dropping the binoculars to his chest, Sean swore loudly.

“What in the bloody hell are the Yanks doing here?”

Sean was just turning around at the loud roar of heavy diesel motors coming from a small fleet of amphibious assault vehicles entering the bay, when his eyes took note of two Seahawks breaking off from the landing operations heading towards his ship. For a second, he thought the birds were going to pass overhead, but as they slowed down to take up hovering positions above bow and stern of his ship. He felt his Clan’s infamous temper flare through his veins.

Slamming his fist down, Sean triggered the alarm for action stations as the ship's klaxon began ringing throughout the ship. Instantly the automatic recording began broadcasting its warning. “All hands to action stations, all hands to action stations. Assume Damage control state one, condition Zulu.”

Leaping out of the deckhouse, Sean hooked his legs over the railings of the stairs as he quickly slid down to the lower deck in a move befitting a much younger man. Already he could see black, combat fatigue soldiers repelling down onto the deck of his ship. Heading towards the bow, Sean passed by his First Officer without slowing down. Not waiting for instructions, Mr. Dudek fell in behind giving his report as he held his walky-talky down by his side.

“Chief McDougal has secured engineering and is warming up the engines. Captain. Mr. Crosslander is requesting orders.”

“Tell the Chief to stand fast and have Mr. Crosslander head towards the stern of the ship with Hans and Wolfgang to repel boarders.”

“Aye aye, Sir!” Except for a slight widening of the eyes, Mr. Dudek passed on the orders without comment. Seeing the fast approaching Black Ops teams headed their way he quickly sheathed the radio at his waist as he murmured softly under his breath. “This should be interesting.”

The soldiers were heavily armed and moved with quick efficiency as they fanned out across the main deck. Aiming their weapons at the two unarmed sailors the point men began screaming at the top of their lungs. “Get on your knees and place your hands on your heads now!”

Ignoring the commands both men called out a prayer to Ukko, continuing forward as power began flowing through their veins. “Suoja”

Instantly a gray glow surrounded them as their tattoos flared red with power. Without slowing down, Sean bellowed at the top of his lungs at the approaching men. “Your illegal trespassing on a ship of the Republic of Ireland is an act of piracy. Lower your weapons and return to your craft or face the consequences of your actions.”

Completely ignoring Sean’s words the Black Ops teams closed in on them still screaming for them to get on the ground. A split second before they closed the distance, Sean saw the point man’s look of shock as he suddenly realized they really weren’t stopping.

In the blink of an eye, Sean closed the distance as his fist slammed into the man in front of him like a wrecking ball, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet into the soldiers behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his First Officer plow into the second team on the right as a Mr. Dudek simultaneously exploded into motion.

For a long moment, the leader of the third combat team could only look on in shocked horror as his platoon mates were taken out of commission by two unarmed men in officer uniforms. The flowing martial art moves looked like something right out of the Matrix. Almost faster than the eyes could follow lightning fast strikes effortlessly flung men through the air like ragdolls to bounce off of nearby bulkheads. Within seconds, the fight was over.

Turning around to face the remaining Black Ops team at the bow of the ship, Sean spoke in a level voice. “You have illegally trespassed on a ship of the Republic of Ireland. Drop your weapons and get on your knees with your hands behind your head or face the consequences for your actions.”

The only answer to his orders came in the form of the team leader aiming his deadly carbine towards Sean and his First Officer. Without hesitation, the soldier triggered a three shot burst at the center of Sean’s chest.

***

Location Earth / Larissa Evans:

“What are you doing? I’m a British citizen!” Larissa grunted in indignation as a black, gloved hand unceremoniously shoved her from behind. Swearing and screaming, she stumbled trying to catch her balance. “Get your bloody hands off of me you wankers!”

Sharon’s shriek of fear galvanized Larissa as another black-clad soldier roughly grabbed her friend by the back of the neck. Manhandling Sharon with his free hand, the man propelled her ahead of him, cursing under his breath as she suddenly plowed face-first into the hard ground. That’s when something snapped inside Larissa. The soldiers hadn’t given a word of explanation as to what they wanted. Instead of answering their questions, the hard-faced men had simply began dragging them away from the dig.

Larissa hated resorting to something as crude as violence, but she refused to be carted away like some helpless twit. Sean MacRory had been teaching her how to fight for years now. Although she was nowhere near the expert in hand-to-hand fighting that he was, she could handle herself in a row when needed.

Using the forward momentum to her advantage, Larissa rammed her elbow through the back of the soldier’s head that had just thrown Sharon to the ground. The strike must have hit true because the large man instantly dropped like a rock as she smiled to herself in satisfaction.

Whipping around, Larissa knocked aside the hand that reached for her from behind. Locking her fingers around the soldier’s wrists she yanked with all her strength, slamming her open palm into the man’s face. She saw the complete look of shock a second before she flattened the man’s nose with the brutal blow. As the soldier staggered back in agony, Larissa dodged another pair of arms lunging for her. Stepping back a pace she snapped her foot into the side of the man’s knee, before giving him a hard push. Crying out in pain, the soldier nosedived into the ground as his legs suddenly gave out.

Turning around looking for Sharon, Larissa saw a blur of motion in her peripheral vision as her mind registered the large fist flying at her face a split-second later. Throwing herself backward, she tried to dodge back as she raised her hands to ward off the blow, but it was already too late. There was a bright flash of light just before everything went dark.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Location Irlendria / Tiberius Decius Lupus:

Cresting the last rolling hill before the Great Forest, Tiberius signaled the bull’s behind him to stop and drop before diving into the long grass. Focusing intently on the field below, his eyes searched for any signs of movement as Decanus Cornisus crawled up next to him.

Lying stock-still, they studied the silent battlefield intently. Thousands of butchered legionnaires were strewn across the trampled ground all the way to the tree line of the Great Forest. Directly below them were the broken standards of the First and Second Legions and the largest concentration of dead. This was the spot where the Legion’s shattered ranks had come together to make their final stand. Across the battlefield, the caws of crows at their grisly feast were the only sounds as his eyes took in the slaughter. Ten thousand of his people were dead. Unconsciously, Tiberius course hands clenched into tight fists as he swore a silent oath.

“They would be avenged!” Lifting his heavy head, Tiberius rose to his cloven hooves, signaling the bulls behind him in legion hand-speak as he freed the massive battle-axe from his back.

Quietly his legionnaires rose up behind him. Unlimbering their battle-axes, they spread out in a spearhead formation with Tiberius at their lead looking towards the forest warily. Silently Tiberius made his way down the slope his senses alert for danger. Not that there was much five Minotaurs could do against a force that could wipe out two full-strength legions. The best chance they had was to keep their presence secret until finding the Thirteenth.

Carefully stepping over torn limbs and shredded bodies of both Elves and Minotaurs, Tiberius made his way to the center of the battlefield and the largest concentration of bodies. His eyes narrowing as he took note of the battle damage. What he saw made no sense. The gaping wounds were like nothing he’d seen before. Most of the legionnaire’s thick tinnearlian shields had deep gouges running down their length while their lorica segmentata breastplates were shredded almost beyond recognition. It was as if some powerful creature had ripped through the soldiers’ chests.

Remembering Centurion Aquila’s old battle stories about the beginning of the Tuonellian invasion, Tiberius stopped suddenly. Kneeling down next to the nearest legionnaire at his hooves, he inspected the terrible wounds thoughtfully as his bulls formed up around him in a protective circle. A large hole had been ripped into the center of the young male’s chest. Looking closer Tiberius realized that the heart was missing from the chest cavity. Getting down onto his hands and knees, he stuck an arm into the gaping hole as Cornisus looked away turning green.

Tiberius bit back the bile rising in his throat as he searched inside the legionnaire’s bloated corpse. The implications alone made him shiver, but he had to know if he was right or not. A second later, he nervously sat back on his haunches. It wasn’t just the heart that was missing. All of the young male’s internal organs were gone. Sucking air in labored breaths he fought to control the rising fear in his chest.

Going to the next Minotaur, Tiberius rolled the legionnaire over repeating the same search. Again the corpse was stripped of internal organs. A quick search of the next three bodies gave the same results. Moving about the field of battle in a daze, he searched through the piles of dead until he finally found what he was looking for, the lithe form of a Forest Elf. Long strides brought him to the archer’s side as he quickly flipped the small body over.

Tiberius froze at the sight of the gaping hole in the center of the Elf’s chest as his blood turned to ice in his veins. Standing to his full height, Tiberius flexed his shoulders scanning the piles of dead once more. This time, he could better piece together the course of events. This was no battle between the Elven Clans of the Great Forest and the Imperium. There were no signs of arrow storms hammering at the Legions ranks. No gaping wounds left from the Ironidium Knights two-handed swords. No, this was classic Tuonellian Hulk tactics.

Following the tree line with his eyes, Tiberius studied the scattered bodies lying across the open ground. There must have been enough Hulks to catch the majority of the Legions while they were strung out in double column formation for traveling. His experienced eyes easily followed the clumps of dead to where he now stood.

General Lentulus Porcia had managed to get a portion of his Legions formed up, but obviously, it wasn’t enough. Turning in a circle Tiberius studied entire slope. Not when the Tuonellian force was large enough to completely surround the survivors. The size of a force that large would have smash through the defensives lines with relative ease. Once the battle was over the monsters would have consumed the dead to recover from their strength. Hulks would eat anything, but they were known to prefer the internal organs of their prey the best.

Striding to where the broken Pennant of the Imperium lay atop a pile of corpses, Tiberius began digging through the dead as his bulls kept a lookout. Tossing bodies aside, he went about his grisly task until he found what he was looking for, General Lentulus Porcia’s blood-soaked body.

Pulling the general to the top of the pile, Tiberius laid his battle-axe down to search the dead general’s body with both hands. He stopped when he felt the smooth messenger cylinder. With a quick jerk, he ripped through the leather bindings holding the tube in place. Unrolling the scroll quickly, he scanned through the contents of the Emperor’s orders. Snorting derisively, Tiberius spat tossing the scroll to Cornisus.

“The First and Second Legions were never sent to Aosta.” As the smaller bull read the missive, Tiberius continued searching for more clues when Cornisus looked up incredulously a moment later. “Their true mission was a preemptive strike against the Elves? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, Sire.”

Tiberius grimaced at the title, but it was better than being called Emperor or Lord every time he spoke to one of his bulls. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. Remember General Sergius Aquilus sixth treatise on the Art of War?”

Wide-eyed, Cornisus chose his words carefully. “The Art of What, Sire?”

“You know, if your enemy’s forces are united, separate them.” Taking the scroll back, Tiberius hid his grin as he tucked the messenger tube into his belt. “Think of it as if you were a Tuonellian. You’ve been winning every battle as each race struggles to fight you individually when the Klavikians appear and bring your enemies together into one overwhelming alliance, before you know it your easy prey is on the verge of wiping you out. That’s when you come up with a plan to annihilate your strongest enemy, but after the battle, you are too weak to fight the rest of the races. Follow me?

Suddenly unsure of himself, Cornisus pitched his voice so that only Tiberius could hear. “I earned my rank on the battlefield. I never attended the War University, Sire.”

Seeing the Cornisus’ nervous face, Tiberius gripped the smaller bull’s shoulder to put him at ease. Raising his voice, he spoke loud enough so that all of his legionnaires could hear him. “Think of it as a bar fight. You have a group of five bulls surrounding you. One of them is a great big monster while the other four are your size. Who do you attack first?”

Cracking his knuckles, Cornisus gave a gap-toothed smile. “I always go for the big’ems first, Sire. You can always take the little guys out one at a time once he’s down.”

With a grim face, Tiberius met Cornisus’ solemn eyes. “That’s what the Tuonellians are doing to Alliance now.”

The sudden call of Imperium War horns deep in the forest stopped further discussion. Whipping around in horror, Tiberius heard the first Elven war drums deep thrumming reply answer back a second later. At first, it was only one or two drums, but within moments, the entire forest began echoing with the rumbling call to war.

It had to be the Thirteenth! Bolting down the slope with a wordless cry, Tiberius took off running for the sounds of battle as his bulls sprang after him. Calling on his people’s heritage, Tiberius forced his legs to pump faster as the wind of his passing blew his long mane and red cape flaring out behind him. Somehow he had to stop this catastrophe!