The Templar Chronicles: Freedom's Price
Chapter 6: A Hard Truth

Gawain awoke with a sudden surge of excitement. Gawain sat up with a small smile on his face; he was not used to feeling good when he woke up. Nothing in his life would ever have made him believe that going to work would make him so happy. For the first time in his life he knew what he wanted and that he was getting it by waking up every day. He wondered if everyone in the world who liked his or her job felt this same way. He assumed they must. He got ready for his day. Gawain had already fallen into a routine even though he had been only doing this for a few days. But the rapid change in his outlook had caused him to want to forget how he had handled his job with the Lumber Company. He headed to the stables where the work awaited him that would fill the hours until he could question Jericho again. Life was simple and direct. Life was good.

Captain Grom looked out his window into the bright sunlight. He saw Gawain heading towards the stables and glanced at his watch, 10:15 am, and the weather is so fine today, what a sad thing that we both need to work inside. He turned back to the paper work that was laid out in front of him. Damn it, he thought, it seems I only get this much work to do on the days that I would rather be outside. He had all manner of work before him, orders for the troops working with the Southern Lumber Company, requisition forms for the ammunition that they were sure to need, and on top of all that he had to fill out paperwork reporting on everything he did to the Templar High Command. Grom now understood why other Captains had grumbled when he mentioned working with a Templar Knight; it was not necessarily the Knight that was the problem. It was more the paper work that they brought along with them.

He worked for another twenty minutes finishing all his routine business and was just starting in on his reports to the Templar about Jericho and the situation he was in, when Jericho himself walked into his office. Speak of the Devil and he will appear, thought Grom, “I trust your mission last night was successful, sir?”

“That it was Captain. The sensors are now in place throughout the entire forest. We will know before anything gets here be it human or machine.” Jericho sat down in the chair across from Grom.

Grom looked at Jericho with an assessing gaze. The man seemed haggard and worn out, he wondered if he had even slept in the last few days. His eyes had bags under them, which were visible even on his dark skin. He sat slumped backward, placing most of his weight on the chair whereas he had always sat with proper attention. His eyes were far away and glazed, as if he were just barely conscious. Grom felt a sudden, intense concern for the night. No one can go forever, not even a Templar. “You look like you could use some rest, sir.” He offered, hoping to convince the man to take better care of himself. The entire operation depended on him after all.

“That I could Captain, and I think I shall, though only for a short while. There is more to do. I want to spend this afternoon checking up on your troops out with the Southern Lumber Company. I am sure that all is well right now, but I want to know if they have heard or seen anything suspicious.”

“Paranoid are we?” Grom smiled, intending for his comment to be a joke.

Jericho responded seriously, “Yes we are.” His good humor had not returned, as he had still not shaken the shadow of threat that clouded his mind, and he was not sure where the attack was going to come first. He did not want anyone to get hurt if he could head off the threat presented by the demon and his servants.

This perturbed Grom a bit; he had never seen Jericho this edgy before. The man was always laughing or smiling at something he thought was funny, this only reinforced Grom’s previous impression. He reasserted, “You should rest, sir.”

“I agree and I will be going to do that directly.” Jericho got up slowly, his check-in accomplished he was ready to collapse into rest.

“Have a nice rest, sir.” Grom’ss voice held a tinge of worry. Jericho waived lightly at him as he left the office. Grom stared after him for a moment thinking. That man works himself too hard. We will know if something is going to happen long before it does there is no need for him to run himself ragged. He turned back to his paperwork and went at it with a will.

Jericho walked to his tent dragging his feet. He knew that even the hour or two’s meditation was not going to satisfy the level of fatigue that he was feeling just then. He lifted the flap and went inside. The tent was a curious invention that was much larger inside then it was out. This engineering marvel was accomplished by some brilliant engineer on some long ago date Jericho could not recall just then. All he knew is that it defied some law of physics to the eye, but that in reality it was more like these larger field tents created a pocket dimension where the contents of the tent existed as they always had. Stepping into these tents actually caused the person to be quite a bit smaller once within. Jericho had never quite comprehended the complications of theoretical physics as applied to engineering. He was always more interested in philosophy and metaphysics.

Stepping into the tent, he felt the sudden pressure that accompanied the changeover from one state of existence into another. Within the tent was a studio-sized apartment. Immediately to his right as he walked in was a full sized bed that was larger than standard issue for Knights in the field, but it was necessary to support his bulk. To the rear of the tent behind the sleeping area was a small kitchenette including a stove and a mini-refrigerator, which now was only stocked with canteens of water and some apples for Charlemagne. A fact which normally would be perturbing to Jericho, but which was mitigated by his proximity to the Army base’s amply supplied kitchen.

In addition to these creature comforts, the left side of the tent was string of utilitarian objects: a full sized armor and weapons rack, a large holo-projection pad and a set of communication equipment that was used to receive and project his image to anyone that he might need to call. The most impressive part of the equipment was the area specifically designed for meditation. Jericho switched on the lights of the tent. All of the electronics in the tent drew on the fusion generator which dominated the back left corner of the tent.

Jericho looked longingly at the bed and sighed. He walked past it throwing his half helm onto the bed and instead stepped into his meditation cube. He had been in his armor for days and it was beginning to feel like it. He was glad to know that the Templar engineers had invented armor and clothing that did not rust, get dirty, fade, or wear out. The cloth and metal contained hundreds of microscopic robots that continuously repaired and cleaned the various articles. A ripped shirt or a piece of torn mail would be repaired in a matter of hours. And though Jericho, and every citizen of Avalon, had similar miniature robots in their bloodstream repairing bodily damage and scrubbing arteries, greatly extending life and improving overall health; Jericho’s skin body soil were not similarly cleaned up by the industrious inventions of Avalon’s engineers and physicians. He was sure that he stank at this point but he had no time for a proper toilette, he could get plenty of those when he was not on assignment.

The meditation cube was but one more of the intriguing inventions of the Templar over the thousands of years of their reign. Essentially, it was a construction taller than the average height of a man, somewhere around two and half meters in all its dimensions. The outside was plain and unadorned; the material that it was made from is what granted the cube its special properties. As soon as one entered the space and slid the door closed sealing themselves inside, all the light and sound of the outside world were immediately cut off. Jericho entered and began to clear his mind. He slid the door home and moved to the center of the space. He was now in perfect silence and perfect dark, the ideal environment to slip into the world of deep meditation.

Jericho knelt down. He closed his eyes, though the darkness made this unnecessary it was simply a force of habit, and began breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His fatigue was so great that after only a minute he was fully immersed in what the Templar scientists referred to as “Tier-Two-Consciousness” or “deep-meditation” or even more colloquially amongst the younger members of the order as the “Dreamscape.” Essentially, Jericho had stepped outside of his body and left it behind.

The world of deep-meditation was a strange one, something like the world of dreams but more solid and less changing. Thousands of Templar had studied this realm of the waking dreams, attempting to unravel its mysteries and rules but to little avail. All the Templar scientists and scholars had managed to learn was that the realm was something only the members of the order could access, that it was part of their gifts from Heaven, and that while there they could interact with the other Templar who happened to be meditating at that time no matter where they were. Furthermore, that upon returning to their bodies after only an hour or two’s deep-meditation they found that they would be physically refreshed as if they had slept the whole night through. However, the meditation square was not necessary to enter this state it simply facilitated the transition. Yet, as in Jericho’s case, many of the older Templar began to notice that this rest did not alleviate the strain or stress on their minds, and that their healing however bolstered could not compare to natural rest. He, and others of his age, preferred real sleep when they could get it.

Jericho looked around him. The Dreamscape appeared differently to all those who walked through it; however the Templar did not often talk about how the Dreamscape appeared to one another. It was a deeply personal experience. To Jericho, it was a grand library filled with books that he had never read with large, comfortable chairs next to roaring fires that never died down. There he could sit and read indefinitely never seeming to get tired, or too cold, or too warm. His Dreamscape was a bookworm’s paradise. He never remembered anything of what he read in the books when he awoke, because of course, they were not real, but he really wished they were. He always remembered them as comforting reads, which nourished not only his intellect but his soul as well. Furthermore, the books always seemed to be exactly what he needed, be it comedy, drama, tragedy, or adventure.

Jericho pulled a book from a shelf. It was bound in red leather and was one of the smaller texts on the shelf. He turned the cover over and was immediately interested in the icon on the front. A golden swan in midflight. He spoke to no one in particular, “What an unusual cover piece.” He sat down a smile set upon his face as he began to read. Some Templar Knights and scholars speculated that the Dreamscape was something close to Heaven, that when the Templar meditated they were in a realm of existence that was something near the Heaven they would experience when they died. Jericho sure hoped so.

He had only been reading for a short time, theoretically, when someone approached him from the right. Jericho was not sure how long he had been there, but once he noticed it, he quickly turned his attention towards the figure. It was Paladin Veritas. The stocky man greeted him once Jericho met his eyes, “Hail Jericho, good to see you again.”

“Ah Veritas, I was not expecting you, what can I do for you?” He ran through his mental checklist to see if he had forgotten making an appointment with the Paladin. He could not remember one.

“Nothing, nothing just trying to get in a quick fifteen minutes of rest before returning to the hunt, and I wanted to say hello.” Veritas appeared as he would in real life but shimmery and pale like a ghost, or, Jericho thought to himself with a chuckle, like those people from those archaic Star Wars films that appeared after dying to give helpful advice. This image was increased by the Dreamscape, for the visage that everyone saw of their fellow Knights was relative to the dream that they each walked, Veritas appeared to Jericho to be one of the scribes from the Templar Archives, brown robes and all. Just like that, Obi Wan Kenobi those movies went on and on about, the resemblance was so striking that he had to stifle a chuckle, as he did not feel like explaining his laughter to Veritas. The Dreamscape also affected the sound of the Paladin’s voice; he appeared to be whispering in hushed tones though his mouth moved as if he were speaking at a normal volume and he probably was. This was part of why the Dreamscape was so strange, it molded to each individual’s perception as if it knew what he or she wanted. Jericho knew the man in real life and he always wore his heavy plate mail laced with gold and bleached an iridescent white. His was amongst the most beautiful armor in the Order and he was rarely scene out of it, but not in the Dreamscape. Here he was just another helpful librarian.

This time Jericho did laugh aloud unable to contain his own merriment at the comparison. This earned him a sideways look from Veritas and a comment on his character, “Always jolly Jericho, it does my heart well to see that you have not changed over the years we have known one another. It is good to have stability in my ever-shifting responsibilities. However friend, time is short, and I must be going.”

“Sorry to hear that, they must be working you hard.” Jericho was sincere. The young man was certainly more durable than Jericho, but the man’s strength would fade with age just as his own had, though some said that the Paladins’ strength never waned even with the passing of the centuries.

“That or I am working myself too hard, there have been three more attacks that I cannot explain, and it irks me that I have been unable to contain the threat here in Antioch.” The hood he appeared to be wearing obscured his face. However, Jericho imagined that if he could see his eyes, they would be burning with passion. There were few in their order that cared more about the lives of the common citizens than Paladin Veritas. Some even said that his devotion was unhealthy, that he should dedicate his efforts to higher pursuits rather than the masses.

“It pains me to hear that friend, how are their families’ responding to the news?”

“Not well, and it breaks my heart every time I have to tell another person their loved one is forever apart from them.” His voice, though in what appeared to be hushed tones, was strongly laced with emotion and it cracked when he uttered the word “forever”, he was never afraid to show the depth of feeling he had for those around him, at least to those he knew would not judge him too harshly. It was a credit to the man, though it took some time to adjust to when one was getting to know him, “But as I said before, I must be going, enjoy your time in the void.”

“Take care of yourself Veritas, you have only just begun this long journey we call ‘the service.’ I would not want you to burn out too soon.”

Veritas laughed as he walked away, the sound strange translated into the hushed tones of Jericho’s dreamscape. Jericho watched him vanish behind a bookshelf not to reappear around the next gap. He liked that man, there were few who could laugh as often as Jericho and he enjoyed the man’s spirit and dedication. It was refreshing in one as young as Veritas. He returned to the volume in front of him and began to read, he was soon lost in a story so engrossing that he never wanted it to end. All stories are perfect in my dreams; he thought and sighed in contentment tinged with regret.

But time was still passing in the world outside of dreams, and the thralls were stampeding closer and closer to where the soldiers went about their daily lives without the knowledge of the imminent danger. A horrible sound rang through the library in Jericho’s mind. It was loud, terrible, and reminiscent of the alarms that used to sound on submarines in the Old World’s navies, and it was just that, an alarm. Jericho quickly returned to his body and looked down at his wrist readout. A large red light was flashing in the bottom right corner and the clock read twelve hundred thirty-five hours. Something was coming. He had to warn... he had to warn everybody. He ran as fast as he could. One of the soldiers carrying a fence post from a shed to the stables saw Jericho’s mad dash. To her it appeared as if the knight was nothing but a speeding blur.

Jericho bulldozed his way through the main doors of the compound and through the halls at the pace of rampaging bear. He slammed open the door to replace that Grom was much in the same position as he had left him before, pen still in hand. Jericho shouted at Grom the glint of battle in his eyes and his spear in hand, “DEMON THRALLS!”

“Where and when?” The Captain’s tone was even and controlled, his face setting into a look of concentration even as he leapt to his feet and ran to collect his guns and mace from the trunk next to his bed that also contained his body armor. The man was a professional.

Jericho spewed information so quickly that it was hard to understand him, “They approach from the south-west and will be here within the hour, we must get your men into position before they arrive or we will be swiftly overwhelmed.” The knight’s agitation and impatience were evident as he shifted from foot to foot staring at the relative slowness of Grom’s preparations. There is something to be said for always wearing one’s armor.

“Very well what are your orders?” Grom was ready and they both moved quickly to the com-station next door to rouse all the men in the base.

“Issue an emergency recall to all soldiers in the area immediately outside the base’s primary building. There are far too many thralls for us to meet them in the open field and so we must attempt to hold the compound from within.” Jericho spoke with gusto and extreme haste, but Grom was a career soldier, he was used to this kind of deluge of speech. “Get your machine gunners to their posts atop the compound’s watch tower; send with them at least three riflemen. They will be the first line of defense but will have to retreat once the thralls manage to climb up to them. Tell them to do so immediately when the thralls begin climbing no matter how much ammo they have left. I do not want anyone caught outside. The thralls will tear them apart, and they will need to seal the tower behind them.”

Grom roused the soldier at the radio station with a slap on the back. She had been staring open mouthed at this sudden change. The young woman struggled to issue all the orders as they came as she had already fallen behind, “Barricade all the entrances and post soldiers at every window if you can. Arm everyone with the standard firearms and issue melee weapons.” Jericho looked out the window of the com station with a distant glare as if he could actually see the thralls as they approached. He sighed and looked back to the Captain, “This will get bloody. I will fill in the gap wheresoever it is that they breach the perimeter.”

The alarm was already sounding across the compound as Lieutenant Smith signaled the imminent danger. Grom nodded his approval and then asked, “Understood sir, anything else we should do?”

“As always, pray captain, there are more than seven hundred thralls approaching from what the sensors tell me. This will be a hard fight with what will most likely be extreme casualties. I expect you and your men to perform bravely this afternoon. May God protect us all!” With this last exclamation, he rushed out of the room towards the main doors to ensure that all those without made it safely inside. Grom’s voice was booming out over the intercom issuing the same orders that Jericho had just given though now with a more military manner and with orders for specific men and women. The base, which had been tranquil and happy in the afternoon sun, had become an overturned beehive.

҂ ҂ ҂

Gawain stood with the brush hovering above Charlemagne, not understanding the sudden noise that was issuing from every speaker in the stables. It was loud and piercing and it clearly meant that something was wrong; though what it was, and what he was to do, he had no idea. It was not until he heard Captain Grom’s instructions shortly after the piercing alarm that he knew he had to get back to the main building. Terror gripped him as he rushed around the stables. Irrationally, he imagined that the demons had come back for him and it sounded like this time they were not just going to get him, but everyone he had come to know and enjoy over these past few days. These thoughts caused his heart and a cold sweat to break out over his skin.

He acted quickly; he could not simply run off and leave all the horses to the mercy of whatever was coming. He opened the main stable doors and then each individual stall. As he did so, he slapped the horses on their sides causing them to run out into the sunlight. He knew that they would be safer running from whatever danger was coming than locked in wooden boxes waiting to be slaughtered. If the soldiers lived through the next few hours, the horses could be found. He left the stables and was assaulted with the sight of the frantic activity everywhere. Many people were running about grabbing tools and materials which were needed to board up the back doors, others were simply rushing towards the compound. He followed two men who were making their way towards the main door.

When they rounded the corner, a startling sight assaulted their eyes. Gawain had only heard rumors of how the Templar appeared and acted in battle. He had been told that all those who fought in proximity to the knights were sturdier and faster than they were normally, that Templar Knights were terrifying warriors whose eyes burned with the light of battle whenever their divine fury was kindled. Gawain had always thought these were exaggerations, but Jericho did not disappoint.

The hulking man stood in the main entrance in a war stance, back bent legs spread wide for balance with his spear and shield held at the ready. His eyes had completely changed. Where before they had been a warm brown full of mirth and kindness, now neither the whites nor the irises were visible. They literally burned a deep amber yellow mixed with some shade of orange, which completely blotted out their normal appearance and giving all who gazed upon him an impression of immense power and danger.

As if that were not enough, the knight was radiating an energy that Gawain could feel in his bones and muscles. He felt a wholesome and soothing feeling descend over his body, as if someone was in his ear whispering that the situation was not as bad as it seems. For as soon as Gawain and the others had come into sight of Jericho, they found they were running faster and that it took less effort than it had a moment before. This proved to Gawain that the other assertions about the Templar were also true. I guess I should have learned to trust the legends and rumors by now, Gawain thought. He and the others rushed inside, but he stopped shortly after entering the room, unsure of what to do next.

The soldiers he had run inside with charged past him through the double doors leading to the rest of the compound. The rest of the men and women in the main barracks were buckling on armor and loading rifles, shifting furniture around, throwing folded beds into the center of the room. The place was in chaos and was incredibly loud; men and women were running around everywhere shouting orders and questions back and forth. Those soldiers who were ready were either standing near Jericho waiting for him to move aside so they could barricade the only way into the room from the outside or by the windows with rifles at the ready and nervous expressions on their faces. Gawain asked what his next move should be of one of the men standing at the ready to push a large set of metal lockers in front of the door.

“Get out of the way.” The man’s face set into a grim façade of concentrated determination as his forearm muscles twitched eager to push the heavy steel between himself and the creatures who were coming. Gawain looked at Jericho’s back for a moment arguing with himself, he decided it would be unwise to bother the man in his current state. He listened to the frantic voices around him.

“Over seven hundred?” “Demon Thralls!” “Foul spawn of the dark ones in the south!” And other such comments were being made rapidly back and forth between the soldiers. Gawain did not understand most of it beyond the fact that somewhere around thirty-five soldiers were going to have to fight off an attacking force of over seven hundred somethings. Rather than facing the thought of the odds of survival, he turned and followed the two soldiers who had left through the double doors earlier.

Lieutenant Smith and another soldier were standing at the entry of the armory handing out magazines and rifles to the soldiers as they ran up from all over the base. Lieutenant Smith saw Gawain approaching and commanded in a flat, lifeless tone, “Come.” Gawain approached her quickly unsure what to make of the look in her eyes. They were expressionless as if someone had sucked the soul out of this vibrant woman and all that remained was a hollow shell, whose only remaining inhabitant was a fear that gnawed at the body left behind. She quickly placed a heavy vest, with armor plating inside and out, over Gawain’s head. He staggered under the unexpected weight and almost fell. Before he could recover, he was being handed a rifle, pistol, and several magazines of two distinct sizes. She also handed him a heavy, broad headed hand axe that Gawain tucked into his belt, he prayed that it would not come to that, though he was sure that it would. The last thing she did was place a helmet on his head strapping it under his chin.

“You are a soldier now. Go into the main barracks and pick a window. Defend it with your life or until you receive the order to flee. That is all.” She then turned to the next soldier who stood behind Gawain and proceeded with a similar operation to the one she had performed on Gawain. From the other room came the sound of heavy scraping and screeching as large objects were moved across the floor. He turned and went back the way he came. Jericho had moved away from the main doors and they had been shut, a heavy bar laid across them and the soldiers were pushing every large piece of furniture they had in front of it. Gawain knew that the only other entrances into the base’s main building were the small door from the kitchens to the outside, which he could hear being nailed shut, and the heavy metal hatch that led up to the gunnery tower that was designed to be sealed from within.

He moved to an open window and prepared to wait out the arrival of his enemies, he was sure that it would not take long. The window was tall and thin, and he had to step up onto a terrace that ran the entire perimeter of the room to be able to look and fire out of it. He grimaced ironically to himself, earlier this day men had sat on this very step to play cards. The step itself was a practical invention, however sad the reality of its use might be. The army had thought of everything when they designed their forts and outposts. The windows would be higher than any normal person from the outside could practically reach, making it nearly impossible to climb in without assistance of some kind, but those inside would be able to stand and maneuver comfortably with the added advantage of height. He grinned at even this slight edge over whatever was coming when a disturbing thought occurred to him.

He looked down and the gun in his hand, until that moment, the reality of the situation had not hit him. The grin slid off his face. He realized with growing horror that he did not even know how to load the gun much less how to aim and fire it. He had seen movies and he was pretty sure of the aiming and firing process, but he did not even know if the rifle had a safety let alone if it were fully automatic or had to be re-cocked to fire again. The private standing next to him on his left was looking at him with concern. She was blonde and pale, and striking in her appearance. She stood with her gun held in one hand the butt against her hip leaning against the window, her mouth a hard line, an intimidating visage. She seemed at ease in the chaos raging around her, but what caught Gawain’s attention were her eyes. They were her most defining feature, piercing blue; they were the color of a frigid winter sky. They bored into Gawain as if she were not glad that it was he guarding her right flank, it seemed that she would rather have almost anyone else in the world standing there instead of him.

His pride flared within him. He shouted at her in his mind, his thoughts rebelling against her hard expression, Well it was not like you had any other choice, there are only thirty people in this whole place and I am better than nothing at all! He turned away from the beautiful woman his anger kindled; Gawain had forgotten his fear for the moment. His temper was hot, quick and was not likely to abate soon when he was left feeling inferior for the millionth time in his life. He looked to the man on his right. This man looked sympathetically at Gawain, as if he were sad that Gawain had been caught in this mess and had to die with the rest of them. He was a plain looking man who stood somewhere around the average one and six tenths meters, though this was short compared to Gawain. The man had chocolate brown eyes that seemed to be reminiscent of a basset hound; this man was a career soldier. He has probably served on the frontier for his whole life, Gawain thought.

He decided this would be the person to ask, “Sorry to bother you, but I am not exactly sure how this works.” He stepped towards the man, gesturing with the rifle, lifting it and letting it fall back down like a shrug.

“That’s alright, I don’t either.” The look of sorrow deepened in his eyes at how bad their situation had become. Even he and Gawain had to stand on the terrace and face the enemy.

The answer caught Gawain off guard. He looked at the man more closely and saw that he was one of the cooks who had been harassing Jericho the other day. He was the same as Gawain, afraid and inexperienced. Gawain’s first reaction was anger, how could he not know anything about fighting and be in the Army!?! But as he thought about it, he remembered that the Army employed a lot of support personnel who were non-combatants. Though they had basic training, this man’s had probably been over a decade ago. He had as much knowledge as Gawain did, who had been practicing with the soldiers for only a few days.

He felt sudden empathy for this man. The new emotion cooled his anger and replaced it with a cold hard truth. There was no way either one of them would stand the chance if they could not even load their weapons. They did not understand war, or even the weapons they had been given. They were completely new to the life and the knowledge of imminent death with which all soldiers seemed to learn and to which they adapted. We are going to die, a voice whispered into his mind. His fear swallowed him then leaving him paralyzed, looking into the sorrow filled eyes of the simple cook standing next to him.

Gawain had no idea how long this moment lasted; the next thing he remembered clearly was when Captain Grom showed up. Grom had not forgotten about these men who were green to all aspects of military life and who had been effectively drafted into the Army for the afternoon. As part of his function as an officer, Grom was there to reinforce their shaky courage and to show them how to use their equipment in the few minutes they had left. “Let me see that rifle Gawain.” His voice was firm and commanding, but not angry or harsh.

Gawain looked at him with eyes wide open in shock. He handed the rifle over slowly, his face empty of any expression, not fully comprehending that Grom was even there. Grom took the weapon and one of Gawain’s magazines. He spoke to both the men in front of him quickly, demonstrating what he was trying to impress on them. “This is semi-automatic assault rifle with a thirty round magazine. You should have five such magazines. To insert a mag, slam it into the bottom. Right here next to the trigger.” He gestured to the large opening, “To eject an empty press here above the finger guard. The ammo you will be firing is hollow, explosive-tip case-less. They will kill any person you hit in the chest or head instantly; they will also take off a limb if you are a little off. Aim down the sight with your dominant eye, close the other. Aim for the largest parts you can see and take your time, do not waste the ammo if you can help it. You will need it. The pistol please.”

Gawain handed the pistol to Grom and received the rifle back, his determination to live slowly coming back to him as Grom spoke steadily, as if there was no risk of any of them dying at all. As if the captain gave this sort of rundown every time he had a new recruit, and that this was no different. He may as well have been giving a seminar on standard issue firearms at the academy.

Gawain supposed that the Captain had seen battle like this many times. The man knew what it was to fight the enemies of God. The soldiers of the Kingdom of Heaven were always fighting against absurdly eschewed odds. “This pistol is a semi-automatic Carrington. It fires a smaller caliber version of ammo in your rifle and has a twelve round magazine.” He demonstrated the loading and discharging of the pistol without words. “The axe now Gawain.”

Gawain took back his pistol holstering it with only a small amount of clumsiness. He handed over the bare bladed axe. He was now paying as close attention as he could. He could feel the fear sliding into the background, a mere nagging at the back of his mind. His desire to survive was kicking in again. It was the same desire that had kept him on his feet when he had run across the plains to freedom. He concentrated intensely on everything Captain Grom said. These were the only instructions he would be receiving and they might save his life. “This is a boar’s head battle-axe. It is made of light material, but the head is heavy for maximum impact. Hit here to kill with one stroke,” He demonstrated on his own body touching the blade to both temples and to either side of his neck, and once over his heart “The rest of the body has several vulnerable parts that will maim horribly but not kill. He touched the blade to his armpit, the inside of his leg, the back of his leg above his knee, and finally to his Achilles’ tendon and the top of his instep. “The rest won’t even slow them down. Here is your weapon son. Don’t be afraid. Stand together with pride, and victory will be ours.”

Grom rushed away, this whole speech and demonstration only taking four minutes in total, but that was still a large amount of the time they had left. The man rushed away, he had to oversee the disposition of many others in the time that remained. Gawain turned back to the cook, whose expression had not changed. His eyes were still filled with sorrow though now he gripped his gun close to his chest and was loading it. Gawain’s voice was low, “I will see you when this is all over, one way or another.”

The man shrugged and turned to face the window that he was charged with defending. Gawain moved to his own window and loaded his weapons. His hands shook a little, but either from adrenaline or fear, Gawain was not sure. Gawain set his jaw and looked to the west. He did not have to wait long.

He heard them long before he could see them. Screams and cries, and what sounded like shouts of excitement mixed with laughter drifted out of the forest, though they seemed far away at the moment. All conversation ended in the room. Suddenly the sound of the hammering in the kitchen was central. It was the last desperate attempts to reinforce the barricades before the enemy reached the walls of the compound. From someone came the unnecessary words in a dead, humorless voice, “Here they come.”

Gawain had heard the soldiers use the word “thralls” but he was not sure what exactly was coming towards them. He knew that the demons had continuously come up with new and horrifying weapons with which to attack Avalon, he was not sure what to expect. Would they be hideous monsters from his darkest nightmares, swarms of exotic beasts twisted by the whims of the demons, or the demons themselves? He had no way of answering these questions himself and he was not going to ask the intensely focused individuals around him.

About two minutes of slowly increasing volume from the forest later, Gawain got his answer. He began to see movement under the trees, hundreds of moving forms running full tilt towards them. He could see now that the thralls were just humans, humans with all manner of dangerous looking blades, clubs, and firearms. The tension eased a bit in his chest, they’re just humans after all. They bleed just like us, and we have Jericho. However, he was still uneasy, there were so many. The noises they made however did not seem appropriate for humans to be making who were charging into a battle that was certain to end in blood. They were cheering and shouting as if they were going to a raucous party, not to a battle. Gawain was intensely confused, but he did not get a lot of time to think about it.

As soon as the thralls broke from the cover of the trees, the light machine guns in the tower above them opened up. The sound was immense and powerful, not what Gawain had been expecting at all, from what he had seen in movies and serials. It was if the thunder that he had always heard from afar crossing the plains had moved to only just three meters above his head. The sound was mixed with the sounds of the shells from the guns falling onto the roof of the base, like metal rain, they were jangling and clanking in steady rhythm with the deep base of the guns. The sound of the thralls’ screams of excitement was blotted out completely, but their expressions of manic glee were not.

The first ranks of the thralls were obliterated before they could go seven meters beyond the edge of the forest. The first fifty were reduced to red mush mixed with hair, bones, and fallen weapons. This had no effect on the other thralls coming forward. They did not even slow down, simply stampeding over their fallen comrades, their feet and lower legs covered in blood and flesh. The machine guns did not abate, but the thralls were spreading into three prongs, and they were loosely configured requiring the guns to swivel and spray bullets in several directions in order to target the thralls, reducing their effectiveness.

The thralls crossed another thirty meters towards the main building. He could now see their bodies and faces, laughing and smiling as they ran into battle with only the desire to please their masters guiding them. Their bodies were lean and hungry, the muscles in their arms and legs stood out; there was no fat on them. Gawain was disturbed, why are they so eager to die, they are humans too, aren’t they, why don’t they fear our guns? He lifted the rifle to his shoulder setting his left foot forward and leaning into the stance to better catch the recoil as he had seen the other soldiers doing. The thralls were well within range and all the soldiers around him lifted their guns to the windows as one. They all began firing together as well. There was no order. It was simply understood that the time had come.

Gawain noticed that time seemed to be moving slower, or maybe that he was quicker. He moved with swiftness and with deft motions even though his body was never trained in how to fight. His mind was supremely focused; he noticed every detail and every sound. The smell of gunpowder was in the air and the scent of blood, all of this was passing in just a few seconds but he saw it all clearly, as if there was enough time to see all the things that his mind normally skipped over. He squeezed the trigger and a round ripped out of the gun in the direction of the hundreds of charging figures. The recoil was light compared to what he expected, but he did not have long to dwell on the pleasant surprise. The round went high of his target; he quickly readjusted and began firing again.

This time he met his mark. The bare breasted woman, who had been brandishing a cruel looking hook set on a long pole, suddenly was on the ground her hip shattered and half of her side blown away. Gawain was amazed; the violence was so easily engendered. It was so simple to take a life with one of these death throwers in his hands. He paused a moment and grinned to himself. He felt a little rush of confidence, the power that came with the weapon bolstering his shaky nerves. He grinned fiercely and returned to the bloody task. He did not even pause to pick another target anymore. The thralls had become a charging wall of flesh that had surrounded the entire barracks section of the building. He was just firing into the mass that was only fifty meters from them.

The sound of the machine guns on top of the roof cut off as soon as the thralls reached the walls and began climbing over one another to get at the windows where the soldiers continued to fire down onto them. They leapt, snarled, and laughed in the faces of the men and women who ended their lives. They were quickly on top of the roof and were only not through the windows yet because of those firing out of them. The thralls were trying to adjust this situation.

A bullet was fired out of the mass of the thralls at Gawain, it smashed into the window frame next to his right hand sending a large amount of wall and plaster-dust into the air, covering Gawain in white. He did not even notice the near miss; the thralls below him attempted to grab the rifle out of his hands even as he blew them apart and knocked them back. They had already come close to pulling the gun from his hands several times and he was wary of losing his weapon. The mass of thralls was so close now, Gawain could smell them. Theirs was a pungent odor of sweat, urine, and disease. They were filthy and barley clothed covered in what appeared to be boils and sores. The Thralls were gnashing their teeth in their frustration at their inability to reach Gawain and the others even as more and more of them died. This was making it easier for them to reach the windows for they could now stand on top of the fallen corpses that littered the ground beneath them.

Gawain put the rifle aside, he knew that the thralls would get it from him eventually and their faces were now above the edge of the window, their blades nicking and scratching his hands and unprotected forearms. He instead drew his pistol, and began firing round after round into the mass that was in front of him only pausing to reload. The gore began to fly up in response to the explosive rounds that he sent into the faces inches from his own. It was covering Gawain’s chest, thighs, and neck in blood and gore; he had to be careful to avoid getting the blood of these screaming sycophants in his eyes. He could not afford to be blinded just then, and only God knew what diseases they were carrying. Then the main door blew inward in a sudden burst of sound and force.

One of the thralls had been entrusted with a primitive explosive kit to allow their force to breach the doors of the compound and he had succeeded in planting and detonating it against all odds. He not only blew away the doors but also himself and five other thralls who were gathered nearby arguing over how to use the explosive properly, but there were still almost four hundred thralls swarming over the compound and now they had a way inside.

Jericho had been waiting for this moment. He and Grom had stood at the ready in the center of the compound anticipating the first breach in the defenses. They knew that the thralls would be drawn to that area, and that their best chance was to fill the gap with the fallen bodies of their enemies. The doors were gone but the thralls still had to climb over the burnt and twisted lockers that still stood between them and the soldiers within. Jericho and Grom did not let them get that far.

With the words, “Strike with great vengeance!” Jericho charged towards the thralls who were staggering over the broken barricade. Grom was close on his heels firing a few rounds into the thralls from a high-powered riot-control shotgun. The Captain forsook the scattergun when the two men drew close to the thralls, tossing it to the waiting Lieutenant Smith. She ran through the double doors at the back of the barracks. Moments later the booming report of the shotgun sounded. She arrived just in time to prevent the soldiers in the kitchen from being overwhelmed.

Grom unclipped the mace from his hip and ran alongside Jericho. The two men hit the thralls like a firestorm. Two or three had managed to stagger inside and were preparing to attack the soldiers whose backs were to them attempting to fend off the masses of enemies still outside the windows. Jericho took one of the thralls through the throat with his spear killing him instantly. He slew another by bashing her with the full weight of his charge, slamming her with his shield and sending her crushed body back the way it had come. Grom knocked the spear out of the hands of the thrall that Jericho had not slain, and with an upward swing killed the man with a blow to the chin.

These were but the first of the hundreds still to come, but it was a good start, more thralls were piling in, and the more that came through the more the barricade disintegrated. The thralls were creating a path large enough to get at the men without being hindered and they did not seem to mind leaping over the bodies of their erstwhile allies. They could only come two or three at a time for the moment but not for long, the wreckage was favoring Grom and Jericho’s battle tactics as there was no one who could wield a spear the way Jericho could. It seemed to be a part of him as if instead of hefting the ten-kilogram spear he was simply lifting his arm. Thralls attempted to shoot him before getting close but the bullets simply bounced of him, even where the armor did not cover his skin the bullets only left small bruises. The Templar, like their demon adversaries, could not be harmed by something as simple as a bullet, and even conventional melee weapons were not guaranteed to hurt them. His armor and body had received several scrapes and cuts from the blades of the thralls though. This had not yet been able to slow the fierce defense of the Knight.

Grom was not so lucky. He had already received two serious wounds from gunfire and the blades of his enemy, one gash across his free shoulder that played havoc with his balance and maneuvering, and another more serious wound, a bullet had gone directly into his calf making it difficult for him to stand, but for now, they were able to hold the doors. But no one knew for how long they would be able to maintain their position.

Gawain had been knocked of his feet with the impact of the explosion and ended up on the floor in front the terrace on the main floor looking up at the ceiling stunned. His senses returned quickly and he looked to his right. The cook had been knocked down as well since he was closer to the main doors, but he was already staggering to his feet. Gawain scrambled to his feet as well, but as soon as he did, he heard a laugh of delight from the window. A thrall was poised to spring in the windowsill a grin of satisfaction set on her face. She gripped a dagger in her left hand. Gawain shot at the woman as she leapt off the sill towards the cook who was firing rounds over the heads of Jericho and Grom at the thralls in the door way. He missed.

The thrall landed heavily on the man’s back knocking him to the floor and crushing the air out of him; the gun flew out of his hands and landed some five feet away. Gawain rushed towards the thrall before she could stab the cook between the ribs and end his life, he kicked her in the side with all of his might. He felt her ribs stave in and crunch as his large boot sent her flying against the wall, the thrall fell to the floor and laid still blood trickling from her side and head. He grabbed the cook and set him on his feet. He faced the interior of the barracks and saw that most of the soldiers had fallen back to make a square around the pile of beds in the center of the room. He fired off his last two pistol rounds into the thralls who were climbing through the windows, and dragged himself and the cook towards the soldiers forming a defensive line.

He had only gone two steps when something grabbed his foot from behind. It was the thrall he had kicked off the cook. Her ribs were broken and had pierced her lungs causing her to cough up blood. Her skull was fractured and a profuse amount of blood poured from the wound. Yet she came on, she could not deny her desire to please her master until life left her body completely. She stabbed her dagger into Gawain’s calf.

He screamed in pain and surprise and fell to the ground. The cook who he had been supporting turned to see him falling and ran back the three steps to help, a cry rising in his throat in his fear and his defiance. A bullet slammed into his chest just right of his sternum. The cook fell, with a choking gasp, never to rise again.

Gawain found himself alone outside the ring of defense, but he was still alive. The thrall who had stabbed him pulled the knife out of his calf and began to bring it down higher up on his leg. Gawain snarled and pulled the axe from his belt. He was not overly careful with his aim, but he was lucky. He struck her a crushing blow with the flat of the axe across her left temple. The expression of manic glee drained out of the woman’s expression along with her life force.

Gawain shoved her off with a swift kick of his uninjured leg. But he could not get up in time. Already, another thrall climbed through the window and was on him. Gawain was fighting without his feet to support him, using only the strength of his arm. He swung and caught the spear tip that was coming down onto his chest knocking it aside. He reversed his motion and used the spike on the back of his axe to stab the thrall in the thigh. The thrall snarled and fell to the ground beside him. Gawain finished him off with a sharp blow to the throat, killing him with a sickening crunching, squish.

Suddenly, Gawain felt a swift and fierce tug on his jacket. Without thinking, he tried to swing the axe around and fend off this new assailant. The blow was not a strong one, being behind and above his head as he lay on the ground. The blow was knocked aside contemptuously. Fearing that death was about to take him, he twisted his head around to see who or what it was that would end his life. The blonde private who had looked at him with disdain earlier was pulling him back towards the line of soldiers with one hand, and with the other was firing at the thralls who were coming after them.

He attempted to help her by pushing with his one good leg and with his free hand, but they were still moving slowly. Another soldier darted forward as they got close to the formation. They set Gawain on top of one of the beds in the center of the square. The private unslung the gun that hung on her back and shoved it at her, “Here, try to make it count.” Her voice was cold and focused and she quickly returned to the line and began firing with careful precise shots at the thralls climbing into the outpost.

Gawain looked in awe at her back for a few seconds. He could grasp the fact that a person he thought hated him and resented his existence had saved his life. However, his attention was sorely needed on the fight at hand, and he could not reconcile the confusing swirl of emotions just yet. He fumbled with the rifle for a bit, but managed to sit up enough so that he could aim over his allies’ heads. He began pumping rounds into the oncoming masses adding to the river of gore that already flowed down the windowsills to the barracks floor. The battle had not lasted long, perhaps ten to fifteen minutes since the thralls first appeared, but it seemed that it would be ending soon. The soldiers were running out of ammo but the thralls were not running out of life.

Jericho was the only one in the main doorway now. Grom had lost the use of his other leg when a thrall had crushed his femur with a well-placed blow from a club. He was now laying behind Jericho with a double-barreled shotgun in one hand, its barrels sawn off to the shortest possible degree, and a fully automatic machine pistol in the other. Whenever a thrall managed to get behind Jericho or to flank him, they were quickly mown down by either a single powerful blast from his right hand, or a quick squeeze from his left.

Jericho was a sight to behold. With those he had sworn to protect in danger, his battle-fury had reached a new level. His eyes still burned with a fire that scorched the souls of the enemies who opposed him, but now the aura was practically a blinding radiance. Gawain could only barely make out Jericho’s outline as he continuously swept back the oncoming horde, the light hurting his eyes even as it gave him hope. The knight was seemingly unstoppable. More and more thralls kept coming and even when they managed to stab Jericho in some way leaving him with serious wounds, he did not seem to feel them, nor even appear to be encumbered by the damage to his person. He kept right on fighting just the same.

Lieutenant Smith and three other men burst through the double doors from the kitchens. Behind them were twenty thralls, and behind them the whole mess hall was filled with a teaming mass of enemies. She and the three survivors moved to bolster the rear line of the square which before had been maintained by only two soldiers ensuring that no one got around behind the lines. The square was now fighting on all sides. The soldiers fought fiercely, many running out of ammo for both their primary and secondary firearms, having to draw their blades to meet the oncoming foes head to head and hand to hand. Several bodies of their fellow soldiers lay around the compound. A few had fallen to the stray rounds from the thralls who still had thralls, but many more were simply overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies when they could not get to the square and its relative safety.

The thralls were still screaming in delight at the carnage around them. This was the only purpose they knew, to carry out the will of their masters, and nothing gave them greater pleasure. But there were only twenty soldiers left not including Jericho and Grom who still were holding out.

Jericho lost his spear to a lucky blow; it flew a couple of meters and landed against a far wall. He had drawn his short sword and was now fighting with that. He was cut all over and bleeding from a few of the wounds on his legs and arms, though his battle-fury had not abated. His armor did most of the work of protecting his vitals from danger, and the shield was being bent and smashed into an unusable hulk, but that could have been him instead. He fought blindly without thinking, simply reacting to the attacks coming towards him, stab, block, smash, parry, now dispatch. But something at the back of the knight’s mind was still functioning in a steady beat; it was a countdown that had started as soon as he had radioed the town of Kent in the first minutes of their preparations. The cavalry was coming, literally, two APCs and ten mounted troops of division twelve, were driving and riding as fast as they could towards the outpost. They would be here any minute; Jericho had to hold out only a little longer. They must have already killed five hundred thralls; they had to be near the end. They had to be.

Captain O’Riley gave the order for her troops to fan out. They had moved out of their APCs into position around the compound as silently as the large machines and dozens of troops would allow. She had with her a crack group of seventy-eight veterans from the standing forces in the nearby city. She nodded to herself, it was now or never, the sounds of gunfire from within the base were becoming fewer and fewer which was a bad sign, and there were still at least one hundred and fifty demon thralls outside trying to get in and succeeding. She leaned her head to one side and spoke into the lapel of her jacket. “Go.”

The reaction was instant and universal. The sixty-six ground troops moved swiftly out of the trees and opened fire on the thralls in a frenzy waiting for the turn to get at the defenders inside the outpost. The ten soldiers on horseback moved around behind the compound to catch the thralls should they try and retreat. And the two drivers of the APCs drove their vehicles straight at the building and the thralls intending to crush anything that got in their way and block the windows from any further invasion.

The thralls looked at the new force that had come and turned to meet them. Still desperately attempting to fulfill the orders, they had been given by their master. Now they were completely outclassed. The thralls’ fates were sealed. The cavalry had come.

Gawain looked up in desperate hope towards the sound of large vehicles and gunfire that were coming through the windows. The thralls inside did not seem to notice, their desire was still to see all the men and women of Avalon in the room torn to bloody shreds. But the thralls who had still been clambering at the windows were suddenly gone; no new thralls were coming in to replace the ones who fell. A moment later, the armored side of a vehicle blocked the out the light flowing in from the windows on both sides of the barracks

Gawain smiled and fought with renewed vigor pumping round after round over the heads of Lieutenant Smith and her men at the sixty or so thralls still left in the mess hall. With a flash and shout, Jericho was amongst the thralls at which they had been firing. The knight had reclaimed his spear and was wreaking havoc among the surprised thralls. He slew half of them by the time Lieutenant Smith managed to give the order for the soldiers to move cover his flanks. They without ammo closed in around the thralls and began systematically cutting down the remaining thralls.

As the last thrall fell, a silence fell inside the compound. Nothing and nobody moved or spoke. Only the voices of the soldiers without filtered in through the windows. The soldiers stood in shock, the realization of their victory had yet to settle into their minds. The sudden reduction in noise left a roaring in Gawain’s ears.

Gawain looked to Jericho, who stood in the circle of the fallen thralls, blood dripping from his weapons and his wounds in unequal amounts. The fire in his eyes began to die down, and it was he that broke the silence within the compound. He sighed, and slowly brought up the spear to support his weight. He turned to look at the daze soldiers sighed, “Well done.”

As soon as he had shattered the silence with this small phrase, the soldiers around Gawain became animated again. They screamed in victory, many with tears in their eyes as they sudden release of the pent up the fear of imminent death. Gawain was just as excited as they were, but he did not yell or scream along with them.

He had turned his eyes from the fearsome spectacle of the Knight of God who now leaned more heavily on his weapon the light completely drained from around him. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the back of the blonde private who had pulled him out of the fray during the fight. She sat only a few meters away with Captain Grom. She tended to the Captain’s wounds so that he did not bleed to death from his many horrific wounds. The rest of his soldiers were too occupied with their intense joy.

Who is that woman? Gawain thought to himself in sudden confusion. He could not remember having seen her before around the compound. He wondered for some time, his mind fuzzy after the fury of the battle and the exhaustion it brought on. He decided that he had probably been unobservant rather than blind. He only looked at her a moment longer, as she pressed a patch over Grom’s leg trying to stop the bleeding, before joining the rest of the soldiers in their victory yells. There would be time to help later. For now, he just wanted to lose himself in the moment of their victory.