Gallipoli, August 1915: Part 2
A Simon Greel Adventure
Feeling like he was suffocating, Simon tore open the top buttons of his shirt and instinctively clasped the cross that he kept around his neck. No mere token of faith, it was a holy relic that had once belonged to a martyr whose name was lost to history. For centuries it had been under the stewardship of a reclusive order of Transylvanian monks who had gifted it to Simon in gratitude for saving their monastery from certain destruction at the hands of an ungodly creature. Like so many of the trinkets he had acquired over the years, Simon kept the necklace in a box in the library at the family estate. It was the one item that Samantha insisted he bring with him when he enlisted in the yeomanry. Until now he had never noticed any supernatural properties in the object. Holding the cross, he felt the darkness recede, and a flood of peaceful clarity.
Simon looked to his comrades. Some of them were not so lucky. To his left lay Cooper. The man had a white-knuckle grip on his Enfield with one hand and was digging bloody furrows in the dry dirt with the other. His fingernails were torn and dripping blood. His eyes were those of a man possessed.
To Simon's other side was Lieutenant Selby. The young officer was in turmoil. He bore a tortured expression on his face; his eyes closed tightly; his mouth frozen in a painful grimace. He did battle with an unseen force. Simon crawled over to Lieutenant Selby. He shook him by the shoulder.
"Sir," Simon whispered harshly. "Sir, can you hear me?"
The officer remained as he was: racked with agony.
Simon thought quickly. He pulled off his necklace, and prying open the lieutenant's hand, he thrust it into his palm, covering it with his own. Immediately, Selby's face relaxed and seconds later he opened his eyes.
"Greel, what is going on?" he asked, swimming in confusion.
"Sir, the sorcerer's black magic has affected us. We must act quickly."
"What do we do?"
"This cross is protecting us right now. It has been imbued with holy meaning. With light. Do you wear a cross or have any other item of meaning?"
Selby fumbled to open a shirt pocket with his free hand. He removed a photograph of a beautiful young woman and a baby.
"That should do it. I'm going to let go of your hand. Hold tight to the photograph and concentrate on what it means to you. Understand?"
Lieutenant Selby nodded shakily, and Simon let go. The officer winced as the darkness attacked again, but he held it off. There was a cry down the line.
"We must help the others," said Selby, his composure returned. "See to Cooper. I’ll get Blair."
Crawling back to Cooper, Simon found the man much as he had left him. Even in the shadow of the dark pillar, the private's face showed red, veins bulging at his neck and forehead. One hand still gripped the rifle; the other hand was covered in blood and mud, splintered bone exposed at the fingertips.
Preparing to break the spell, Simon grabbed Cooper's slick red hand. But before Simon could apply the cross, Cooper struck him hard across the face. Simon rolled back, and Cooper hopped to his feet.
He looked at Simon with bloodshot eyes and let out a feral roar. Then he charged the ancient ruined temple and the foes gathered within.
None of the hooded figures seemed to notice as Cooper screamed and ran. Not a head was turned. But as Cooper reached the circle of stone blocks that formed the perimeter of the temple and of the dark beacon itself, he abruptly halted as if striking a solid wall. Rather than bounce off it and fall to the earth, however, Cooper was slowly raised up into the air. A pulse of energy was emitted from the column, and in that moment, Cooper exploded.
Simon watched in frozen terror. The explosion was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Nothing like a grenade or artillery shell that left men maimed or mangled. Rather, Cooper's body simply came apart. First his clothes, then his skin, shredded. This was followed by his muscles, the fibers of which tore apart and expanded leaving behind a web of vasculature surrounding unsheltered organs and bones. Joints popped and disarticulated. Cooper's entire body was torn apart and expanded until there was nothing left but a cloud of gore in the shape of a man ten times the normal size. There was another surge of energy and Cooper's remains fell from the air, showering the ground with red droplets.
Simon nearly leapt out of his own skin when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was Lieutenant Selby. Following behind him, crawling on their bellies were Sergeant Blair and privates Smith and Marlbury. Each man clutched an object in his hand.
"Cooper is gone, sir," Simon said.
"That's one way of putting it," replied Blair, who had apparently witnessed the grotesque disintegration.
"Clearly we aren't going to be able to just stroll in and stab those chaps in the heart, what do you advise, Trooper Greel?"
"Well, sir. I have found that physical beings are susceptible to physical forces. We could try shooting them. Maybe we get lucky."
The lieutenant considered the suggestion. Opening fire behind enemy lines was bound to attract attention, perhaps even making their planned rendezvous with the rescue planes impossible. But the success of the mission was paramount. The lives of thousands were at stake.
"Private Marlbury. You're our best shot. Bring the main chap down. He's the one we're here for. The one with the gold trim on his robes. On the far left. Smith. Head downslope and warn us when that company comes charging."
Smith scrambled away and Marlbury readied his rifle, pulling the stock in tight to his shoulder and lining up the iron sights.
"Ready, sir," he said.
"Fire!"
The crack of the gunshot split through the silence of the night. The bullet flew straight at its target, on a trajectory to pierce the man's heart. But as it hit the dark field, it was deflected to the left and ricocheted off one of the ancient stone columns.
"Again!" said Selby.
Marlbury fired again, with a similar result: the track of the bullet was bent to the left of the target.
"The darkness is changing the trajectory of the bullets. It's like firing into water."
"Exactly so," said Blair.
"Marlbury, aim for one of the fellows closest to the center of the circle."
The private fired. This time his shot went into the wall of dark energy straight on. What would have been a kill shot was still deflected, but not enough to miss entirely. The bullet struck one of the hooded figures in the meat of the thigh. He dropped to the ground; his screams muffled by the barrier, which flickered angrily from the disturbance and shrank in diameter.
"That got him," cheered Blair.
A rifle report cracked behind them.
"Time is short, men. Fan out and fire at will. Approach at a walk. Marlbury, get an angle on their head man."
The men of the squad rose and moved. Marlbury ran to the left along the edge of the dig site. Simon followed. The other marines opened fire; bullets flying and bolts rattling. Simon dropped to one knee and picked a target. He glanced at Marlbury and saw him line up his shot.
Marlbury fired. The field deflected the shot, but it drew close enough to the sorcerer to get his attention. He dropped his raised hands to his side. When he did, the dark pillar evaporated opening the sky above to the shining stars. The sorcerer turned to face Marlbury.
Simon got his first good look at him. The man was middle-aged, with raven black hair streaked with silver. He had a prominent nose flanked by deeply shadowed, black eyes. He raised an open hand to Marlbury and bowed his head, muttering.
Marlbury stood transfixed. At first, he trembled, then he shook violently. The marksman dropped his rifle. The ground shifted underneath him. Simon was knocked to the ground; he scrambled back away from the disturbance. Marlbury sank into the earth like it was water. One hand was extended above the surface when it solidified again. The fingers moved frantically as Marlbury suffocated.
Simon sprang forward. He dropped his rifle and cross and dug at the dirt covering Marlbury. His fingers didn't make a dent in the packed earth. He drew his bayonet and stabbed at the ground.
The sorcerer walked slowly toward Simon, drawing a jeweled dagger from beneath his robes as he approached. Simon picked up his rifle and fired without aiming. The shot missed.
Simon tried to work a new round into the chamber but the bolt was jammed. The sorcerer locked eyes with Simon, staring at him with fanatical intensity. He raised the knife high over his head and chanted an incantation unknown to Simon. Simon leapt to his feet, the inoperable rifle in hand. He suddenly regretted giving less than his full attention during his training exercises.
Before Simon had both his feet firmly planted, the sorcerer's knife came slashing down. He parried the blow, but stumbled to the side. Another slash. Simon raised the rifle to block, but this time the attack was only diverted and the knife bit deeply into his forearm. The sorcerer kicked Simon hard in the side sending him sprawling and his rifle flying from his hands. Injured and weaponless, Simon despaired. Then he had an idea. He reached deep into his jacket pocket and took a handful of the powder contained in the folded handkerchief. Spitting out the words of the ancient curse, he flung a handful of mummy powder into the sorcerer's face.
The dark mage's eyes were wide with surprise the moment before he was struck. The cloud of dust hit him full in the face. For a moment the sorcerer appeared to brace for instant pain, but when none came, he threw back his head in a triumphant laugh. Simon hung his head in defeat. Just until the moment the sorcerer started gasping for air.
The spell had worked. Surprise returned to the dusky man's face. His mouth gaped open and his nostrils flared. In panic he clawed at his throat. He dropped to the ground, thrashing. Suddenly, the frantic terror gave way to deliberate resolve. Lying on his back, the sorcerer croaked out a word unknown to Simon. Then he plunged his jeweled dagger into his own heart. The man gasped. His dark eyes were left lifeless, and on his mouth was frozen a defiant smile.
Lieutenant Selby took Simon by the arm and raised him to his feet. They both looked at the dead sorcerer.
"Bloody hell," said Simon. "Have you ever seen someone go out like that?"
"It's a first for me."
"I'm worried about what it means. I don't think a man like that would have done something like that without a good reason."
"Avoiding capture is a reason enough for some men."
"No, this was something else. I fear for the success of our mission."
The lieutenant spat in the dust next to the dead sorcerer. He reached down and pulled the ceremonial dagger from the dead man's chest and secured it in his satchel.
The priests had all been killed and they lay on the ground their blood soaking into the parched earth, but the cost had been heavy. In addition to Cooper and Marlbury, Sergeant Blair had fallen in the charge. He was not done in by supernatural means, but by four rounds from a revolver by a panicked acolyte. But not before he buried his bayonet to the hilt in the man.
The surviving men rushed to investigate the scene hoping to ascertain the head sorcerer's designs and assess just how successful he had been before the enemy arrived. Apart from the head sorcerer, none of the other priests had carried anything remarkable or identifying. The ancient stone altar that they had congregated around was surrounded by a ring of torches that still burned, casting flickering shadows at strange angles around the dig site. On the altar itself, Simon observed a number of symbols, resembling cuneiform, freshly drawn in charcoal. At the center of the writing was a photograph bearing the image of the general that had sent Simon and the rest of the team on the mission; the man responsible for the invasion that would begin at dawn.
"What do you make of this, lieutenant?" asked Simon, holding up the photograph.
"Is that General..."
"Yes, without a doubt. It's fair to say that he was the target of their conjuring."
"What does that writing say, Greel?" asked Smith.
"If I had a week at the University library, I might be able to tell you. My sister could probably tell us, but..."
The sharp report of a rifle ripped through the stillness of the night, and Simon watched as Smith crumpled to the ground, the back of his head gone and most of its contents with it. Bullets swarmed around Simon and Selby, buzzing past their ears and blasting craters into the ancient stones surrounding them.
"Move, move, move," shouted Selby.
They made for the channel that had been cut in the side of the dig site. Simon didn't know what lay on the other side of it, but he knew that they were dead if they stayed there another minute. Lieutenant Selby clearly had the same thought as both men made a run for it, weaving through the standing columns and leaping over those on the ground. Bullets zipped all around them. Some thudded into the dirt, others ricocheted unpredictably off the stones. Firing stopped as they disappeared into the passage. A chorus of shouts followed behind them.
The two Englishmen emerged to a gently sloping and open staging ground. Equipment was scattered between vacant tents, and at the far end was a truck and three horses tied to a picket line.
"The horses!" shouted Simon.
The horses were saddled, and Simon reached the nearest one first. It was a beautiful, coal-black steed: young and without flaw. Simon untied it and leapt onto its back. Lieutenant Selby climbed awkwardly into the saddle of the bay next to Simon's horse.
"The landing site is less than a mile from here. At the dry lake bed. Just need to let our chaps know that we're ready for them."
The lieutenant retrieved a brass pistol from his satchel. He pointed it over his head and fired. A bright flare lit up the sky. Simon watched it trail through the air. The whistling of a bullet past his head brought him back to earth.
"Let's go!"
Simon kicked his horse hard. It dashed forward with such power that Simon nearly fell out of the saddle. Selby had a slight head start, but Simon quickly overtook him. His mount galloped with demoniac ferocity. Rifles cracked behind them. They rode on. Simon charged into the darkness, grinning with exhilaration. A machine gun opened up in the receding distance, but moments later Simon was around a bend and out of range.
Simon looked back to see that Lieutenant Selby lagged behind by at least fifty yards. The officer's bay galloped, but was no match for Simon's mount. Simon slowed his horse to a canter, while Selby caught up.
"Keep up, lieutenant! Not much farther now!" he yelled over the beating hooves.
Selby drew up alongside Simon.
"Your horse runs like the devil himself," Selby said, his smile weak in the scant light. He slumped in his saddle, but tried to hide it. He held a hand to his side.
Simon frowned. He slowed his horse further.
"Sir, are you injured?"
"I caught one back around the bend. Nothing the surgeons can't stitch up when we're back."
Both men suddenly looked up, scanning the sky. The droning of an airplane echoed off of the surrounding hills.
"No time to waste, trooper. Ride on, and don't look back." Selby smiled. "But don't let that damned pilot leave without me."
Simon saluted and gave his horse his heels. He took off into the night.
It was only another couple minutes of hard riding before the road led Simon out of the hills and onto a salty flat. Simon pulled hard on the reins, and his horse skidded to a stop. Over the sound of the animal's heavy breathing, he looked and listened for any sign of the airplanes. A minute passed, then two. Growing more nervous by the second, Simon wheeled his horse around: no airplane, no Selby.
Soaring in close formation low over the hills, the airplanes arrived suddenly. They glided to a landing not a hundred yards from Simon. He hesitated.
"Come on, Lieutenant. Where are you?"
Shots rang out down the road. A pilot shouted from behind.
"Let's go!"
Simon cursed.
His horse skittered nervously. The pilot shouted again.
"Are you mad? We can't bloody wait!"
"The lieutenant was right behind me. We can't leave him."
Over the drone of the engines, Simon heard gunfire again. Closer still.
Where the road bent and opened to the dry lakebed, a horse and rider galloped, followed by a truck and several mounted soldiers. From the truck, a half dozen men fired their rifles at Lieutenant Selby. Bullets flew wildly from the bouncing truck, but the volume of fire alone posed a danger. Selby charged straight at the planes.
Not a moment later, Simon's horse reared, letting out a terrible scream. He was thrown to the ground as the magnificent beast collapsed to the cracked earth. Simon looked up.
Lieutenant Selby was still charging as fast as his horse would carry him; the enemy still pursued, gaining ground quickly. Simon snatched up his rifle and scrambled over to his fallen mount as it gave a dying shiver. He leaned on it--hot and damp with sweat--and rested his rifle on its unmoving flank. Simon fired at Selby's pursuers. He landed several shots on the truck, but not enough to stop it.
Selby passed Simon's position, racing for the planes. The Turks were only thirty paces behind. His ammunition spent, Simon turned to make a run for it. He knew he did not stand a chance. Over the tumult of the pounding hooves and roaring engines, he heard a strained voice.
"Get down!"
He dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands. A pair of Vickers guns opened fire. Simon stayed frozen; eyes firmly shut. Horses and men screamed, metal groaned and sizzled. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the Turks that had not been gunned down were beating a retreat. For the second time that night, a hand reached down to pull him to his feet.
"Come on, old chap," said a young airman, looking dashing in his gear, "no time to waste."
Simon was ushered to the empty seat of an idling plane. He saw Lieutenant Selby being carried limp to another plane and being loaded.
"Are we waiting on anybody else?" asked the airman.
"No," replied Simon, "it's just us."
"Damn. Rotten luck."
With everyone on board the planes, the engines raced.
"I hope you don't get seasick," shouted the pilot. "This is much worse."
The planes bounced along the lakebed picking up speed until the ground dropped out from beneath them. They trembled in the air, slowly gaining altitude and banking toward safer territory. Dawn's glow painted the horizon. The invasion would be starting.