The Crystal Warriors (4 page)

He patted Shigeru on the shoulder and turned away. They had relaxed just a little and he took advantage of it.

"Sergeant Nobuaki, pick five men and form a defensive perimeter. Sergeant Saito, come over here with me for a moment."

He stepped back from his men so they couldn't hear.

"Saito, take the rest of the men and deploy to face the Americans. Be ready to kill them if they make any move. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

Ikawa hesitated for a second. His words would be dangerous in the Empire―but they were far from the Empire now.

"Sergeant, you are to answer only to me. If Lieutenant Mokaoto attempts to order you in any way regarding the Americans, you are to refer him to me."

He could see the astonishment in Saito's eyes. Etiquette and discipline had just been broken, but he knew that Saito could be trusted. Ikawa turned and walked over to Mokaoto.

"Who was killed by that blast of light?"

"Superior Private Teruzo, Captain."

"We have everyone else?"

"Yes, and the Americans as well."

"Yes, the Americans as well." Ikawa looked past Mokaoto to the twin moons on the horizon.

"Captain Ikawa."

He looked up and saw Phillips approaching him, his hands extended out to either side showing that his weapon was holstered.

"Don't trust him. Captain," Mokaoto hissed.

Ikawa ignored him and walked over to meet the American.

At a cautious distance of several feet they both came to a stop.

"Any idea of where the hell we are?" Phillips finally asked.

Ikawa looked away from Mark. They stood upon a low cresting hill and Ikawa could see the broad, treeless valley beyond. The twin moons cast a double shadow pattern of light and dark. The air was warm, dry, with a faint scent of the prairie carried by the gentle night breeze.

Now that it was quiet he could hear the night noises. Some were familiar, but some different―insects, birds, then a deeper rumbling growl that sounded like a tiger but was not.

The moons alone forced him to admit a terrifying reality; the feel of this place, the savannah-like vegetation, only helped to confirm that somehow, someway, they had traveled far from the conflict that had nearly killed them only minutes before.

He looked back to Phillips and saw the same sense of wonder and fear.

"Are we dead, is that it?" Mark asked.

"Captain Phillips, your guess is as good as mine."

"But it's a safe bet we're no longer in China," Mark replied, and his tone carried all the implications of that.

"Yes, we are no longer in China, Captain Phillips. And I could state that again you are my prisoner."

"Bullshit. I have half a dozen people behind me, all of them with weapons pointed straight at your head. Go ahead and give the command, you Jap bastard, and you'll be the first to die."

Ikawa started to laugh while looking straight into his eyes.

"We are cut from the same mold, Captain Phillips. The moment one of your men fires, my people will cut you down, for I've given the same order. So here we stand."

Ikawa looked away from Mark towards the moons and then back.

"But we are not your prisoners," Mark replied.

Ikawa stepped closer and Mark did not back away. Each looked into the eyes of his enemy, a man he would have killed without hesitation only hours before. But under these circumstances...

"We have to make a choice, Captain Ikawa. We can have it out here and now. Chances are you and I will both die, and in the end maybe, only a couple of yours or mine will live. I don't see any sense to that."

"No," Ikawa said with a soft chuckle. "Even back in our war, I never did see any sense in that."

"Then it is agreed that for the moment at least our agreement formed when fighting the Chinese still stands?"

"Agreed."

"With the additional understanding that we are no longer your prisoners, here or anywhere else."

Ikawa hesitated for a moment. But he knew that the balance had been changed forever; the old rules simply no longer applied.

"It is agreed," Ikawa said softly.

There was a gentle exhale from Mark, and Ikawa realized that Mark would have given the order to open fire if that point had not be agreed to.

Again the thought came to him. "You have Bushido, Captain Phillips."

Mark nodded slightly at the compliment. "Now we have two alternatives," he said, "the first being that we can split up and go our separate ways."

"Is that what you want?"

Mark smiled. "Is that what you want?"

"Don't play a game with me, Captain Phillips. The advantage to separating is obvious: We remove the chance of a confrontation and the fear of a stab in the dark. Tell me, Captain Phillips, would you stab me in the back?"

"You Japs are noted for that. I lost an uncle on Bataan, Captain Ikawa."

Ikawa avoided the possible confrontation and turned his gaze to a movement behind Mark.

"Say, Mark." Kochanski was approaching out of the shadows.

There was a low call in Japanese; Ikawa gave Mark a quick look of appraisal, then called back to his own men.

"Captain Phillips, tell your man to approach cautiously. One of my men almost shot him, thinking he was making a move on me."

"You hear that, Kochanski?"

Kochanski came up to the two officers. "No hostility intended, Captain," and he gave a slight bow to Ikawa.

Ikawa found himself liking this young American sergeant, who understood their courtesy and used it.

"Go ahead, Sergeant," Ikawa replied.

"Mark, I've taken a little look around this place."

"Go on, Kochanski."

"Well, sir, over there where we got thrown out of that whirlwind I found the outline of a pentagram on the ground, just like the one in the temple."

"You think there's some connection?"

"Can't think of any other theory, Captain. We got drawn into the pentagram in the temple and got thrown out here. Wherever
here
is," and Kochanski looked up at the moons.

"I also found six bodies. One of them is Japanese, Captain Ikawa."

Ikawa nodded. Teruzo had been a good man, lighthearted and devoted to his parents.

"What about the other bodies?" Ikawa asked.

"Never seen them before. Three men, one of them the guy we shot up. Then there's a boy and a woman."

"Blown all to hell," Kochanski continued, "like from an artillery round. Same with the others. All cut up by shell frags..."

"Go on, Kochanski, what are you thinking?"

"This is like something out of the Wizard of Oz gone berserk―I mean, with that tornado thing that brought us here. It seems like we got sucked from one world to another―maybe through the force of those dead sorcerers playing around with occult-type stuff. They obviously got more than they bargained for, and the shell from the Chinese wiped them out, except for that last guy."

"This leads us to our second alternative then, Captain Phillips," Ikawa said. "We must assume that whomever they were, they have friends."

Mark hesitated for only a moment. "Bring your men over here, Captain Ikawa. Kochanski, bring our guys over too."

A couple of minutes later the men were gathered into two lines facing each other.

Ikawa turned to face his command and said something, while Mark spoke to his men.

"Captain Ikawa and I have agreed to an armistice, a truce. Only God knows where we are. But we're going to get back sooner or later, that I promise you."

He paused. The last statement sounded so hollow, but he had to promise something.

"We're going to work in alliance with the Japanese. We have to, in order to survive. You saw what that one guy did to the Jap. If the people around here can do that, our only hope is to double our strength by fighting together rather than against each other. I'm
ordering
all of you to honor this agreement."

He stared at them, searching out each man and holding him with his gaze. Just one hotheaded action could screw the whole deal.

"If anybody makes so much as a move against the Japs without my direct and personal order, I'll shoot him."

There was a snort of derision from the ranks and he thought he heard the word "traitor" mumbled. He could guess who said it.

"Captain Ikawa!"

"Yes?" And Ikawa came to his side.

Mark unholstered his .45 and walked over to Giorgini.

"Did you say something, Giorgini?"

Giorgini smiled sarcastically. "No, Captain."

With one sweeping movement Mark cocked the .45 and put the barrel to Giorgini's forehead.

"Captain Ikawa."

"Yes."

"This bastard thinks I'm
a
traitor for making our alliance. Give the word and I'll blow his fucking brains all over the ground."

Mark prayed that he had judged Ikawa correctly. He knew the Japanese were watching and hoped that through this act he could convince them, while at the same time show his own men how serious their situation was.

"Go on, Captain Ikawa, decide."

Giorgini was trembling, and Mark prayed that he wouldn't start to beg, for he would lose face for all of them if he did.

Ikawa sensed it as well and acted quickly.

Coming up to Mark's side he pushed the automatic away, and spoke to Giorgini in a loud voice so that all could hear.

"Many of my men feel the same about me, Sergeant, but our war is gone―somewhere on the other side of that," and he waved towards the smoldering pentagram. "I want you to live to help us survive."

He turned away from Giorgini, and walking back to his own men, explained what had transpired. There was a murmur from the Japanese ranks.

"All right, men, get ready to move out in ten minutes," Mark ordered. "There was a hell of a lot of action here and maybe the friends of those stiffs over there will come by to check up on it. We've hung around here too long as it is."

Mark left his men and went over to where Ikawa was standing on the crest of the hill. Beyond them the broad open valley was bathed in silvery light.

"We better get a move on, Captain."

"Yes, you're right. But to where?"

Mark was silent.

"I remember a movie I saw in your country. What one of the characters said seems appropriate for this situation."

"What was that?"

Ikawa smiled, looked over to Mark, and extended his hand. "It is an alliance then, until we return home?"

"Yes, until borne," Mark replied, and grasped Ikawa's hand firmly.

"You know, Captain Phillips, somehow I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

Mark gaped at him for a moment and then a smile crossed his face.

T
hey had walked for several hours, crossing a terrain of gently rising hills covered in waist-high grass and occasional groves of small windbent trees. The twin moons, low on the horizon, were still shining brightly over the plains, and ahead on the horizon there was the faint glimmer of the coming sunrise.

Kochanski found himself wondering what color and type of sun he would see. He was now firmly convinced that at the very least they were light-years, if not galaxies, away from home. The star fields were different, and even with the brightness of the twin moons, he could see glowing star clusters arcing across the heavens, spanning the sky like beads on a necklace―most of them far brighter than the Milky Way.

Kochanski no longer shared his thoughts with the others. His comments only frightened them, and after the first hour he learned to walk in silence and helped with the carrying of Jose, who drifted in and out of consciousness.

Someone nudged him from behind: Giorgini.

"Do you see something over there?" Giorgini asked, pointing behind them.

"Where?"

"There, low on the horizon."

He followed where Giorgini was pointing and saw what appeared to be a darker blackness moving across the far horizon. He didn't want to say anything yet―the others would simply say it was his crazed imagination.

"Naw, you're seeing things." But he kept his eye on it―something was there. It seemed to be headed towards the place they had come from. Moving low, it disappeared, came back up, then disappeared again as though it was hugging the valleys to avoid detection.

Kochanski moved forward to Mark's side.

"Say, Captain," be whispered. "Giorgini and I think we've seen something moving in the sky behind us."

Mark looked off where Kochanski pointed but now there was nothing.

"What was it?"

"Couldn't tell. It seemed to be flying and was like a dark cloud moving across the sky low to the horizon."

Mark thought for a moment. The bogey could be their exhausted imaginations, but after that character with the lightning bolts he wasn't taking any chances.

He scanned the terrain in front. A quarter mile ahead there was a small grove of trees, their forms silhouetted by the twin moonlight. If something was looking for them, it would be as good a place as any to make a stand.

"Captain Ikawa, there might be something behind us."

Kochanski explained what he had seen and the Japanese captain's reaction was instantaneous.

"Quick march," Ikawa cried, and he directed his men towards the grove.

Several minutes later there was a flash on the horizon behind them; then another. A rumbling boom like thunder washed over them.

"Bet they're back where we first came through," Kochanski ventured, and Mark grunted agreement.

They pushed faster, and some of the Japanese sprinted ahead to secure the grove for the rest of the group.

"Something's coming," Lieutenant Younger shouted from the rear of the column. The cloud was visible again, and moving towards them.

The party broke into a run―the four men carrying Jose lagging somewhat behind.

"Holy shit, it's coming in quick!" Giorgini screamed. Turning, he cocked his carbine, ready for a fight.

"Fire on my command," Mark cried, and falling in with the four stretcher-bearers he turned with Giorgini to provide cover.

The cloud turned, cut to one side, and then came sweeping in directly over their heads.

Like a bursting balloon the darkness ripped asunder. A dozen flying creatures appeared, screaming with rage. They were the medieval image of demons: reddish in hue, eyes of fire, with blood-red talons extended to grasp their prey, and wings that swept out above them.

The stretcher-bearers ran past Mark and Giorgini, gaining the edge of the grove, just as the demons soared down upon them with cries that stung their ears.

"Fire!" Mark yelled, took aim, and shot. Shrieking, a demon burst into flames and tumbled to the ground, igniting the tall grass.

There was a wild cry of anguish and Mark turned to see Lieutenant Mokaoto fall to the ground, several demons on top of him.

Horrified, Mark watched as one of the nightmarish forms dug its talons into Mokaoto's legs. Mark lifted his pistol to fire―

"Captain, look out!"

Mark was knocked off his feet. Rolling, he found himself staring into eyes of raging hatred, talons raised to slash.

There was a wild cry and a shimmer of reflected light as a sword hissed across his field of vision. The demon fell away, bursting into flames.

A rough hand grabbed Mark by the shoulder, pulling him back up. It was Ikawa, his samurai sword dripping a liquid that smoldered and stank.

Giorgini and Walker came in on Mark's side and together with the Japanese captain they pulled Mark towards the protection of the grove.

"Mokaoto!"

The Japanese soldiers screamed as two demons gathered around the struggling lieutenant, and with wings flapping, lifted him into the air.

Goldberg took careful aim, and his shots slammed into one of the monsters. It tumbled from the sky, but the other demon soared, bearing Mokaoto into the darkness. Above the
crack
of the rifles and jeers of the demons, the men could clearly hear Mokaoto's screams, which grew fainter as the doomed lieutenant was carried away.

"They're coming in again!" Goldberg cried, slamming off several rounds. The Japanese machine gun opened with a high staccato shudder, catching one of the demons and cutting him in half.

"Something else coming in!" Kochanski shouted, and pointed towards the sunrise. The dot of movement soon resolved into three men flying in formation.

"Jesus Christ!" Mark yelled in astonishment. "Captain Ikawa, hold your fire on those men, there's something about them. If they're a threat, let them make the first move."

Maybe it was the way they were flying around like Superman that made him hesitate. Hell, he was almost past the point of astonishment anymore. Batman and Captain America could show up right now and he wouldn't think twice.

"Can you beat that shit?" Kraut cried in amazement. "In formation, no less."

The demons, seeing the formation, turned as one and pulled back. They attempted to reform into the ball of darkness, but it was already too late as the three flyers closed in, cutting off their retreat. The air crackled as bolts of light slashed into the demons. One tumbled from the sky, wings torn, and the rest scattered. The triad followed two, bringing them down in explosions of fire, while the rest escaped.

The triad came back towards the astounded soldiers, circled the grove, then alighted thirty yards away.

The three human forms stood their ground as if waiting for something.

"Think they want a parley?" Ikawa asked.

Mark looked at him. "With power like that we damn well better hope so. You with me?"

Ikawa nodded. They started out, avoiding the spreading circles of flame caused by the fallen demons. Ikawa stopped briefly to examine the ground where Mokaoto had been taken, then rejoined Mark as they approached their three deliverers.

"What do you think of them?" Mark whispered.

"One thing is for certain; they weren't friends of those things we just fought."

"That doesn't mean that they'll be any friendlier to us. They might be friends of the ones back at the pentagram and blame us for what happened."

Even as they spoke one of the three lifted back into the air and flew over to one of the demons who had been knocked out of the sky by a light blast. A pale shimmer of light spread from the man, and the demon shrieked as the pulsing blue aura closed around it, so that it could no longer move.

As the two captains approached the new arrivals, the single flyer returned and joined his comrades. Mark and Ikawa stopped about a dozen feet away from the flyers.

Their clothing was white, or light blue; it was hard to tell in the predawn light. Their garments were plain: a collared tunic held by a broad leather belt with glowing crystals in it, trousers, and calf-high boots of black leather. They also wore wristbands set with a brightly shining crystal on each arm. Each man seemed to be covered by an aura of light, and they glowed in the fading starlight. The three men were motionless, slender, almost fragile looking, but Mark would never have said so to their faces. Mark took another step and held out his hands, palms downward.

"Be careful not to point at them," Ikawa warned, stepping forward as though he didn't want these strangers to think him inferior to the American.

"Do you speak English?" Mark asked.

They were silent.

"Damn it, you Americans always think that everyone else should speak English," Ikawa muttered.

"Well, what else do you expect me to ask?"

"Let's not argue in front of them," Ikawa replied, and smiling, he gave a bow reserved for a possible superior.

The flyer on the left nodded in Ikawa's direction and then whispered to the one in the center.

Mark correctly guessed that the one in the center must be the leader and he advanced another step towards him. Feeling foolish, he imitated Ikawa's bow, realizing that the courtesy had most likely made a positive impression.

"
Ilya na, mui vaneria na?
"

Mark locked eye contact with the one in the center who had just spoken and smiled, shaking his head.

"
Ilya na, masa du nara, Sarnak tu Allic tu Patrice.
"

Again Mark shook his head, then threw in the typical American gesture of shrugging his shoulders and cautiously raising his hands.

"
Naga!
" the one to the right shouted and stepped to the center, raising his hand in Mark's direction.

"
Toman bishu,
" the one in the center yelled. Stepping in front of his protector, he forced his arm back down. He stepped towards Mark and cautiously raised his hand.

"Mark, step back," Ikawa warned.

"I think it's all right. Look, Captain Ikawa, we've got to make friends somewhere; I prefer these to those demons we just faced."

Before Ikawa could protest, Mark stepped closer, keeping his hands down.

The man before him was light skinned, not quite Caucasian but neither was he Negroid or Oriental. It was as though the three had been blended together. His eyes were penetrating, with an intensity of power that Mark felt was somewhat superior to his own. But he forced himself to hold the gaze and the stranger smiled and held up his hand.

He's going to strike me, Mark thought. He waited for the blow but there was only a light touch to his forehead.

"My name is Pina, second commander of my lord Allic. This is his fief you tread upon, stranger."

He thought this Pina was speaking English and for a moment he wanted to laugh at Ikawa's comment about English, but then he realized that the language was strangely different.

"I can sense your confusion, stranger, by the power of the crystal." He pointed to a softly glowing crystal centered on his belt. "I have given you the power to understand our speech."

"How?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Let us not waste time with such talk now. There is much to do, and first I must decide about you and your companions,"

"Decide what?"

"Is it not obvious? You are strangers here, interlopers on my lord's fiefdom. Is that not enough to decide? Now tell your comrade that I wish to touch him so that he might speak as well, and that I mean him no harm."

Mark turned to do as he was asked.

Pina could sense more caution, more wariness, but also an iron control in the second outlander as he reached out, giving him the power of understanding.

Pina could feel a slight draining of his strength and resolved that for the moment he would not waste the power of his crystal on the others.

These were not Sarnak's demons, at least. He had seen them fighting Sarnak's servants, and their performance was credible. But they were obviously not of the world of Haven, Such warriors as these must be from another portal, perhaps caught by accident in what he suspected was an attempt to bring forces from another dimension.

Well, it looked like the attempt had turned against whomever had tried it. Now he had to decide quickly what to do with the results.

"Where are you from?" Pina asked Mark.

"Pennsylvania."

"What is this Pennsvana?"

"America."

"Never heard of this America."

And it was with that single statement that Mark felt a deep sense of despair. It stated to him perhaps more than anything else just how far away they must now be. In a world at war, there was hardly anyone alive from Eskimo to New Guinea native who had not heard of America. With the realization came a sudden premonition that he most likely would never see home again.

Pina looked appraisingly at the two of them.

"I have decided," he intoned. "You are outlanders, caught in the web of another. You seem to be warriors and that is good. I shall inform my lord and you shall pledge vassalage unto my master."

"Vassalage? What the hell is this?" Mark replied. "Listen, buddy, I'm an American, even if I am in some other godforsaken corner of the universe, and I'm no serf to anyone."

Pina stepped back.

"Mark, shut up," Ikawa said. He stepped forward and spoke quickly.

"The nation of America is very proud; there, every man is his own lord with no vassalage. He means no insult to you, I swear it."

Ikawa turned on Mark. "Listen, we need an alliance if we are to survive. You and I made an alliance and some of your men and mine called it treason. But we did it. It's the same thing here. I am in pledge of vassalage to my Emperor, yet I live with Bushido, with pride."

Mark, feeling calmer, nodded; and Ikawa approached Pina.

"I can pledge alliance to you as well but my first pledge is to my Emperor, and not I nor any of my men is an oath-breaker."

Pina nodded. These men might be useful. They had pride. He could blast them with a wave of his hand, but he knew that his lord could always use warriors.

However, there was something strange about these men; they did not feel like mere mortals. It was almost as if...