Chapter One-hundred

  The sound of wood sliding on sand was lost to the whistling of the wind and the murmur of the sea as our boat came to a halt on the beach. The rangers jumped out into the ankle-deep water on both sides, and rushed up the beach where the waves couldn’t reach them, all the while scanning the darkness for the other landing teams as well as threats. Krissy and Kiwa didn’t need to be told what to do — they followed Toven and his team without looking back to see the sailors pushing the boat out to see to return to the ships. The dozens of teams assembling were dark, silent shadows, and while I didn’t know much about proper military operations, I found the whole thing quite impressive.

  ‘Operation Normandy is officially underway,’ I announced, maybe a little more cheerfully than the situation warranted.

  I don’t know what that means. Start making sense or stop talking! Krissy grumbled into the voice-chat, panting already as she ran behind Kiwa, following the team, aiming for the tree-line about fifty metres up.

  ‘Stop talking? This is proper D-day stuff!’ Hank yelled excitedly. ‘The only thing missing is Nazi machine-gun nests.’

  ‘Hah! Hank gets it!’ I hollered. ‘Although, I don’t think you’d want Nazi machine-gun nests. That would be bad.’

  Nazi nests? Some kind of birds? Are they dangerous? Krissy asked, sounding worried all of a sudden, looking around while running.

  ‘Yeah, well, you don’t want those birds around, that’s for sure,’ Hank said.

  ‘They’re not birds,’ I groaned without getting into an explanation. ‘Plus, we’ll have our own green Nazis to deal with soon.’

  ‘True that,’ Hank agreed.

  ‘You two are weird,’ Kiwa grunted, earning an over-the-shoulder glance from Tovaron Ento.

  ‘Problem?’ he asked without slowing his gait.

  ‘Just some spirit fuckery,’ she replied.

  We weren’t the first team to reach the treeline, which turned out to be the beginning of a dense forest that seemed to suck the rangers in like a sponge would a splash of water. Even though the faint moonlight seeping through the clouds was failing to penetrate the canopy — the upside being that the rain shared the same fate as the meagre light — the elves seemed to have no problem seeing in the near pitch-black environment. The same wasn’t true for my host, and Kiwa offered her her shoulder to hold onto as they moved past the first tree. I thought it prudent to start warning her of protruding roots, rocks, mounds, or anything else she could potentially trip over.

  We got at least twenty metres into the forest when Tovaron Ento signalled his five-men team — plus us — to stop, and everyone knew what to do without him having to give orders or say a word. The rangers got to it with practiced efficiency; their cloaks vanished into their bags, replaced by what looked like an overcoat made of some sort of natural mesh-net, and half an hour and a ton of leaves and branches later, everyone was wearing the same kind of ghillie suit I’d seen them wear before, but adapted to the local environment. Kiwa was quite good building her own suit, and she even had some time to spare to help Krissy become the perfect living bush she was always meant to be, and on time.

  Once we were ready, Toven performed a few hand gestures, and we were on our way to save all the pointy eared Private Ryans.

  ***

  All the meditation exersises Kiwa had forced on Krissy were paying off — she had no choice but to use some Mana to keep up with Toven and his team, but she was doing it carefully and with quite the mental finesse. I was keeping a close eye on it as they ran towards our objective, often along the edge where the forest met the beach, sometimes in the forest proper, depending on what our team-leader deemed to be the best and safest option. Krissy was managing beautifully to keep a thin stream of Mana flowing into her body, not more than half an MP per minute, and she didn’t let any of it go to waste and add to the problematic but decreasing amount of half-used, inert Mana already in her body and soul. I supposed experience was the name of the game when it came to these spiritual shenanigans, not only for me, but for her as well.

  At times I could have sworn I saw other teams running along — a shadow moving among the trees, a bush rustling the wrong way, branches snapping under what I assumed were footsteps — but even with my tentacles stretched out, and darkness not being a huge issue, I couldn’t be sure where the rangers were, apart from our team.

  On the cross-branch comm channel, the captains of our flotilla announced they were at a distance of two, two-and-a-half miles from shore, and that they’d arrive at the Harbour in less than an hour, ready to make their assault from sea. Master Fenar — wherever he was — assured them the rangers would be there in time, setting up the perimeter around the orkish port and prevent anyone escaping to take news of the assault, or to prevent reinforcements to reach the place. Even so, that wasn’t a lot of time, and Toven doubled the speed at which we were running to a level that was bordering inhuman, and finally I caught glimpses of some two-legged bushes around us picking up the pace as well. Krissy neither complained nor lost any focus in drawing Mana with care, and she kept pace with the pack.

  I was kind of awed by how Krissy — her feet either sinking into wet sand with every step, or slipping on muddy undergrowth — was advancing with almost as much grace, and definitely as much speed as an elf. I even caught Toven peeking out from his guillie-suit to check on her, then nodding in approval.

  It wasn’t long — maybe half an hour — before we saw lights in the distance. Toven ordered us all to slow down and stick to the edge of the forest as we went, and to be extra super-duper careful not to be spotted by any barbarians who might be wandering or loitering around.

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  Harbour in sight, roughly a mile ahead. Teams assigned to perimeter watch are proceeding to take positions, teams assigned to rescue will head towards main settlement. I heard Master Fenar’s voice on the voice-chat, sounding as crisp and snappy as you’d expect from any military man in operation — an opinion based entirely on a library of war movies I had watched back on good old Earth.

  Righteous Wrath two miles out and closing. In engagement range in approximately fifteen minutes. Captain Rimarle Alas reported on the cross-branch chat, and there was no doubt in my mind he had in one hand a spyglass, keeping an eye on the Harbour, and his dog, Fifi, in the other.

  Brave Soul following. The captain of that ship reported, whose name I couldn’t remember.

  Dauntless Will following. Another nameless captain confirmed. Sigtar Something. Maybe.

  Furious Fist following. Hurry up with that perimeter, Master Fenirig Arte, my marines are raring to go. Captain Fenirig Arla joined in, issuing demands to her father.

  I heard Master Fenar’s voice on the Ranger’s Channel, thought-yelling at the poor officers who had the misfortune to be included on the comm-node, then he replied to the Furious Fist.

  Will be done in ten minutes.

  I heard someone groan into the voice-chat.

  Now, we hadn’t been invited to every strategy meeting, so all I knew was that if the plan had not changed since, we were going to miss the torching of the Harbour on account of Toven’s team being a part of the contingent heading up to the orkish city of Vraathblood.

  More moving bushes arrived to join us, at least four teams’ worth of camouflaged elves, and if I wasn’t mistaken, one of them was none other than Fenirig Arte. Well, knowing how proficient a fighter he was, I found no reason to object — better the elf you know than the ork you don’t.

  Sticking to the treeline we approached the Harbour, stopping only a few hundred metres away from the first of the structures constituting the port, or town, or settlement. Or whatever it was. And “whatever” was the right word to describe the place. We were looking at an eclectic mix of wooden shacks on the beach, then somewhat larger but ramshackle buildings further up where the orks had cleared the forest of trees, many of them consisting of thick wooden posts holding up thatched roofs, under which crates and what looked like sacks were piled up. The orkish equivalents of warehouses, I surmised. And of course there were the piers. Three of the wooden structures stretched into the shallow sea, allowing galleys to be moored to something and to load and unload their cargo. Three of the nightmarish ork ships were there, resting along two of the piers. The place was lit by torches that somehow managed to withstand the rain — although the downpour had devolved into a steady drizzle since we’d landed. It was still hard to tell from this distance who or what the figures moving up and down on the piers were — orks or their slaves — but it didn’t matter, we were going to bypass the place and leave it to the Navy and the marines.

  I was a little tempted to get Krissy to go closer. Despite the whole place looking like a giant toddler had slapped it together when he got bored of playing with Lego bricks, it had a nostalgic feel to it. Hastings perhaps? Or some other, smaller seaside town down south? But this wasn’t the time to start feeling homesick, and of course it would have been stupid and reckless to ask Krissy to deviate from the plan.

  After Toven and the other team leaders were satisfied with their observations, most of the teams sneaked back into the forest to go around the place — some to establish the blockade of the port, and the rest of us to go deeper inland to find the capitol city of the Vraathkill Clan.

  ***

  Perimeter set. One of the team-leaders announced through the Ranger’s Channel.

  Our teams, led by Master Fenar, were already a hundred metres up the road — which we had found easily — so I couldn’t see what the perimeter looked like, or how the teams had split up to surround the entire land-facing side of the Harbour. All I knew was that if I couldn’t see them, then the enemy couldn’t either.

  Perimeter set, rangers ready to assist with the assault. Fenirig Arte conveyed the message through the cross-branch chat with the thought-tone of a general who had absolute confidence in his soldiers, even without being there with them himself

  Acknowledged. Furious Fist in position, half a mile out from piers, so far unnoticed. Fenirig Arla, captain of the Furious Fist, reported back. Marine landing teams underway, archers ready for first volley.

  The other captains made similar reports, and there was quite a lot of chatter going through the comm-node dedicated to the marines, making progress reports and coordinating their landing with the archers on the ships. It seemed the show would begin in a matter of minutes. Fenar didn’t let us slow down on account of the imminent assault on the Harbour, so we kept advancing, following the muddy dirt-road leading to the city that held most of the kidnapped elves.

  It wasn’t even a minute into our stealthy march when the marines reported the start of their engagement.

  Volley away. A thought-voice shrieked into the chat.

  Hit, hit, hit. Oh, they’re falling off the pier like ragdolls. Landing now. Another, much calmer voice echoed through the node a few seconds later.

  Surprise, surprise, surprise! An excited marine officer yelled. Die you green bastard!

  I was quite sure the man was actually yelling out loud into the face of an ork, and simply forgot to control his thoughts. Happens.

  Second landing party underway. Someone else announced on the Marine Channel.

  Shiiit! Dozens of them in that house! Another marine cried out, his thoughts rather panicky.

  Team twelve and seventeen, assist the marines! A ranger calmly issued an order on their channel.

  Even without an answer, I knew those teams were right on it, and I could just picture it as a number of bushes suddenly stood up and started slaughtering the orks in question in front of the gobsmacked marines.

  A bunch of them are making a run for it on the north-east. Team five and ten intercepting. Another ranger informed the collective.

  I had to give it to the elves: they knew how to plan and conduct a military operation. The rangers’ perimeter seemed to be working, the marines were well on the way to clear and destroy the Harbour and rob the orks of their naval capabilities, and we were on our way to conduct a rescue mission. I was of a mind to start patting myself on the shoulder — unfortunately all I had was a tentacle-riddled ball for a body — because my spiritual communication network was evidently a huge contributor to their success.

  'Oh man, we’re missing all those souls!' Hank wailed, his voice coming to me through our own KHIM channel.

  I couldn’t disagree, to be honest; judging by all the thought-voices flying back and forth between my comm-nodes, the Harbour was quickly becoming the all-you-can-eat buffet I knew it would. Or, from another perspective, a ghost-town littered with all sorts of dead bodies. Shame we weren’t there.

  Don’t even think about it! Krissy growled at me. I supposed after all our time together, she knew exactly what was going through my non-existent head.

  'Yes, boss!' I replied, trying to sound cheerful and not at all regretful.

  And so, secretly mourning all the wasted souls, I spread my tentacles out, focused on our surroundings as well as the road ahead, and hoped the city of Vraathblood would be an easy dinner. Or breakfast.

  I think I'm gonna buy a cake tomorrow to celebrate.