ArmyoftheFantastic

MEN WITH REALLY big guns always made Thomas Eldersen uncomfortable. As the two very large men in gray jumpsuits carrying very large and likely very automatic weapons escorted him down the equally gray hallway, the small professor kept repeating a number. That number was the fee he had been paid for his acting as a consultant to Humes Aerospace for just one month. The amount was almost exactly three times what he was paid annually to teach Medieval Literature at Smith College, and it was July, so there were no classes.

Yesterday, when Thomas had agreed to accept the consulting contract and check, he had rather assumed they needed him to put together some sort of period festival for their employees. The seven-page confidentiality agreement had made him suspicious that wasn’t the case. Two elevator rides and three levels of security checks and a retinal scan later, he was pretty sure that a staff party was not involved.

Thomas Eldersen tried to not look as intimidated as he felt and repeated quietly to himself that very large dollar amount. The walk ended at what Thomas first thought was the door to a giant safe. For a brief moment he wondered if they planned to give him some more cash, expenses or the like, then one of his escorts pushed a button and spoke.

There was no reply, but there was a loud click and the three-inch steel door swung slowly open. As soon as Thomas stepped through, both men straightened, appeared like they really wanted to salute, and then walked away.

General Orgin was a large man, just starting to turn to fat. He had to be in his sixties and everything about the white-haired man suggested he had been career military. This made sense to Thomas, as he had just read how many retiring army officers moved into positions at companies they had done business with and Humes Aerospace was one of the Pentagon’s largest contractors.

The “general” continued to ignore him, so the professor studied the office to learn more about the man. The office’s walls were the same gray as the jumpsuits everyone else seemed to wear. In fact, he realized, the suits tended to fade into the walls. The desk had three phones—one was even red—and several piles of papers. On the walls were two photos, one of the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima and the other of a much younger Orgin and three other men standing next to a beaming President Reagan.

“So you are my weirdness expert?” General Orgin asked in a deep voice that sounded used to giving orders. He didn’t wait for a reply. “So what is this?”

It took Thomas a moment to focus in the photo the general held up. Then he realized it could not be a photo, but must be a picture taken of an amazingly detailed painting.

“Yeah, notoriously nasty in most stories about them.” Thomas’ mind struggled for an example, but nothing came. The general saved him a long silence by bringing up a photo of another exquisitely detailed fantasy monster.

The creature resembled a snake, but had four short legs and wings. It was painted side on, as if flying past the artist with a long expanse of unbroken forest below it.

“No. A wyrm, with a Y,” the professor hastened to explain. “A form of dragon, actually, commonly portrayed in England and France. The sort of creature Saint George was said to have fought.”

He found himself dropping into lecture mode. “They were fierce beasts who ravaged entire villages. Some were said to breathe fire, others to spread plague with their breath.”

“Okay, you’ll do,” the older man interrupted just as Thomas prepared to give him a detailed account of England’s patron saint’s battle with a dragon and explain how it was thought to be a metaphor for the conversion of the Britains to Christianity.

Pushing a button on his desk, Orgin once more took up his stack of papers and ignored the literature professor. A few seconds later the door opened, and a younger man with eagles on his shoulders waved the professor from the room.

“I’m Potter,” the man introduced himself. Then they began walking down yet another gray hallway. Thomas noticed there was a slight slope to the floor and realized this had been true of the last corridor as well. They had been going lower even as they walked. He realized most of the complex was underground. This certainly fit with the Dr. Strangelove feel to the place. Thomas had the uneasy feeling that he had been dropped into a very low budget SciFi Channel special. He was more than a bit frightened and felt like he had lost control of his own life. Once more, the professor repeated to himself the amount of the very high retainer that had already been deposited in his bank account.

“If you will follow me,” the slender major explained as they walked down a new windowless hallway, “you will be given a badge and have your clearance processed, Professor Eldersen. Then I can show what is going on.”

It took the professor a few seconds to adjust to that. The place was so, well, military, he had assumed this was some sort of US Army operation. This was strictly a corporate party, whatever he was mixed in.

Another long walk took them to an underground monorail. The cars were large, and there were no seats. As soon as a car appeared, several large men stepped up and loaded boxes until the car was almost full. When they had finished, Major Potter led him to the front of the first car, where two crates had been set for them to use as seats, and nodded at the operator.

They started with a jolt that almost knocked Eldersen off his feet. Waiting until he had recovered, the young officer then recited what sounded a lot like a canned speech. “I will remind you again of the secrecy statement you signed. If you, at any time, ever speak of what you are about to see or relate anyone else anything that is connected to this project, you will be liable for a massive amount of money and assuredly spend the rest of your life where you can tell no one anything else.” He paused for obvious effect, and it worked. Thomas felt himself begin to sweat even though the car was cool. What had he gotten into?

“Back out of what?” Eldersen realized he was frightened and resented it. And he was getting annoyed at all the secrecy. What the hell kind of party were they planning? An orgy? What else could they need a professor of medieval literature for?

The major smiled. “Humes Aerospace is a for-profit corporation. Of course you would be required to return every penny and the confidentiality agreement would remain in force.”

Thomas Eldersen once more repeated the amount of money they had paid him. Suddenly it wasn’t sounding as large as it once had. On another level, though, he was intrigued. Where was this all leading?

About then they arrived and exited the monorail. By way of explanation Major Potter led Thomas into a large cave that opened onto the Atlantic Ocean. It appeared to have been widened and extended, and there were a number of openings on the sides. The sound of the waves alone was impressive enough, but all the professor really noticed was the ten-meter-wide glowing ring of blue flames that hung across half the entrance. Or rather to what was inside that ring, which was a coastline where he knew there should be none. He edged and looked around the side of the fiery ring and saw only ocean beyond.

“To another world.” The major seemed to enjoy the open-jawed expression Eldersen achieved. “To a completely different world. A parallel one to our own, it seems.”

“The simple version is that what you see is the result of a failed experiment. A mistake. They were attempting to create a new method of communications. One that was so radically different it could not be jammed. The profit would be enormous. Every unit in the armed forces would have to be reequipped with it. So Humes had some quantum physicists working on it, wasting way too much money, a government grant, of course.”

Professor Eldersen listened without taking his eyes off the image in the portal. The shore was no more than a hundred meters away. Occasionally, he could see a small bird flitting in the forest that reached almost to the stony shore. Once, he was sure that he heard the screech of a hawk over the crash of waves.

“Well, they cranked up the device, which works at something they call the subatomic level. Guess the idea was to change the atoms inside each radio using something called Congruity or a word like that. No real signal, so no jamming.

“The first test was a failure but hinted that there was a reaction. They used ten times the power for the second test. It took all the power from a nuclear station just to open this thing, but that is what they did. It’s still straining every generator we have to maintain it.”

“No idea; maybe it would not open again. Maybe open to some other parallel universe. Maybe the moon next time. No one knows. I would not want to try. Anyone tries to touch this thing or come through it, Orgin has given orders they be shot.”

That concept was enough to allow the professor to drag his eyes away again and realize there were half a dozen heavily armed men nearby, most just staring at him and Potter. A few looked like they wanted him to get near the portal or make a mistake. Then the real question slammed into Eldersen’s awareness.

“Not exactly . . . er, take a look at these.” The major passed Thomas a thick book full of photos. It was more photos of the fantasy art, again incredibly detailed. After the fifth shot of the same hippogryph it dawned on the professor that these were not paintings. His jaw dropped a second time and he knew why he was here.

The next set of photos showed some sort of castle, though the towers were too high and thin to be architecturally possible. That set ended with the pictures of a bearded man standing at the top of one of those towers who must have fired some sort of weapon. The last image showed a round, fiery object just about to hit the camera.

“There are men in armor as well, some seem to be firing lightning from lances they carry,” Potter added as Thomas paged past yet more photos of mythical beasts and knights in armor. When he finished, Thomas found he had nothing to say. He was still dealing with the portal; what lay beyond it would take more time to believe.

“Those images cost us almost eleven million dollars in drones. Four went in. Not one made it back out. But they told us what we need to know. We go in tomorrow. You will be accompanying the general as an adviser.”

“Not exactly,” Potter laughed. “It was determined there is no opposition there that modern technology can’t handle easily. I would not want to go up against a .50-caliber heavy machine gun in a tin suit.” Then he paused, searching for words.

“The general, some of the boys. They haven’t told Washington about this yet. Not sure when they plan to. Guess it will be more of a recon in force. If it goes well . . .”

“Have you any idea what we have out there?” As usual, he was not looking for an answer. “A whole world fresh and full of resources. Not a drop of oil has been pumped, not a speck of uranium mined. Hell, once we are in control, maybe we can ship over our atomic waste and finally shut the liberals up about it.”

“Part of it, at least. They said it was a parallel to this one. From what we could map, the geography is the same. No GPS sats, though. What you see there is an island off the coast of Britain, or what is Britain here. We call it Anglesee or something like that. I sent in a few scouts, but they seem to have had some trouble with the locals. One was hiding in a tree and he sent in the image of a really pretty woman, punk type, with green hair, then went silent. Sneaky bastards, but a few rounds from an M-16 will straighten them out.”

“Be the perfect place for a base. Once we have it pacified, we can pour in forces. The dividend this year will be incredible. Hmmm, probably make me an executive vice president after all this.”

There was nothing Eldersen could say. Or, rather, with his mind on overload, he was having trouble concentrating on one thought long enough to express it. It didn’t seem right, invading another world. This needed to be studied, cherished, not attacked. And there was something they had said that had the promise of a hidden menace to it, but he could not settle on what that was. He was only able to reach one solid conclusion, and it was hardly comforting: his retainer wasn’t really large enough, not big enough by far for all this. It was also slowly dawning on the professor that he was actually going to see a world where magical creatures existed. But he wasn’t going there to study them, they were going to invade them. It not only felt wrong, but even logically it was wrong.

What was he doing here? He had to get out of this mad scheme. The image of that magnificent magical wyrm came back, and somehow the great beast’s eyes were accusing.

With a sinking feeling, the literature professor realized that his just knowing about the portal meant he was committed. There was no question Orgin would have him imprisoned at best or, more probably, shot if he tried to back out now. Eldersen looked around for a way to escape and realized he had no idea where he was or how to navigate the maze of unmarked corridors.

“The landing craft are arriving now . . . using hovercraft. We go in tomorrow morning. I’ll count on you to warn me about anything unusual that we might face,” the general finished and then hurried off to supervise a crew mounting some sort of machine gun in a hydrofoil.

“I’m communications officer,” Potter offered. “You’ll be assigned to me. The general may not need you much. Some of the board wanted a consultant. Orgin tends to just drive ahead. Good man, but very old school. Tougher than the men he leads, and that is saying something. Try to stay away from the mercs. They tend to be a rough crew, mostly former Russian Spetsnatz and South African Commandos, the ones their governments did not want to retain. I’ll take you to your quarters.”

The room was very military and the bed uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like Thomas Eldersen could sleep anyhow. At least three times he convinced himself this was one big practical joke. At one point he was sure the whole thing was something the girls in his Chaucer class arranged. Didn’t one of them have a dad in the Pentagon? That—or they slipped something in his coffee and he was in the middle of one astounding hallucination. Those alternatives seemed so much more likely than a magical, alternate parallel world. So it came almost as a disappointment when morning arrived and he was still deep inside the Humes Aeronautics compound. Half an hour later, the professor was on a hovercraft standing next to General Orgin and behind Potter, who was seated at a communications console.

The console was covered in small screens; apparently many of the mercenaries had small cameras in their helmets. At the moment most showed only the inside of other hovercraft where rows of other grayjumpsuit-wearing men sat in what Thomas felt was uncanny silence. Major Potter’s voice was subdued as he ordered the half dozen hovercraft through the portal.

The professor watched, but the fiery edges of the portal didn’t change at all as the first hovercraft glided through the fiery ring. To his relief, it continued toward the island without a problem, though a glance around the side of the portal at the empty ocean still gave Thomas a slight shudder.

“Ten top men on each craft, tough and well trained,” Orgin commented as the third airboat glided through the portal. “I pity any local yokel who tries to stop them. We should be all done in time for lunch to be catered.”

Eldersen felt helpless. He was a part of this insanity, and there was no way out. He looked around for a way to stop the madness and noted everyone had a .45 automatic in their belt except him. Was he a coward to just go along? The professor felt helpless, and all he could do was wait.

Then the fourth hovercraft had passed through and it was their turn. They drifted gently forward and through the portal. Only the supply ship remained at the dock. Thomas braced himself, expecting some sort of feeling at the transition, but there was nothing. A look back reassured the professor that the portal looked the same from both sides. The thought that they were invading an entire planet with less than fifty corporate mercenaries was suddenly very intimidating. It was good to know he could get home. After only a few seconds the whine of the fans subsided.

“We’re staying offshore until the perimeter can be cleared and stabilized,” Potter informed Thomas when he looked surprised as they pulled to a stop about twenty meters short of the shore. Even as he spoke, the fronts of the other four hovercraft dropped open and the mercenaries moved with intimidating military professionalism onto the island. From one craft a small armored car with a .50-caliber machine gun in its turret rumbled onto the beach behind them.

“Give me air recon,” Orgin ordered without taking his eyes off the men on the shoreline. Within seconds, an unmanned drone and then a two-man helicopter zoomed through the portal and were over the island.

The general’s answer was gruff, and he never took his eyes off the shoreline. “Yes, geography, location of cities, lots of things. Less people and those strange critters, but mostly the same.”

The general almost paused. “I still wonder why the directors saddled me with you. Liberal wimps.” He sounded adamant as if saying it made it true. “We have rifles, rockets, an armored car. They still ride horses, for pity’s sake.”

Three creatures rose out of the forest. They looked like a combination of a hawk and a lion. The professor found he had stopped breathing again as the mythical flyers grew larger on the screen. Potter must have been less impressed. The major popped off a fire-and-forget missile from the drone, and seconds later one gryphon disappeared in a burst of blood and feathers. At the same time a frantic message came over the radio and was broadcast over a speaker in the command post.

“Charlie can’t fire, sir,” came a frantic reply in a new voice. He seems to be a frog. Returning to . . . ribbet.” Seconds later, the feed from the helicopter went black.

Eldersen glanced back at the screen showing the view from the drone. The two remaining gryphons were close. The major sent the unmanned aircraft into a series of preprogrammed evasions, but they were designed more to evade surface-to-air missiles than talons and beaks. Before the drone’s camera stopped sending, they got a look at what looked like pieces of the aircraft’s ultra-stress plastic wings being torn apart by a foot-long beak.

“Cleared our air cover. Just what I would have done,” the general grunted. “We’re gonna need some shoulder-launched stuff to handle those big bird things.”

“Forgot more about combat then you’ll ever know, professor. I’ll run the op. You tell me fancy names,” General Orgin snarled. He kept watching the screens. “All units expect an attack. This is a free fire zone, repeat, free fire. If it moves, kill it.”

“But, General, didn’t they say that this is a parallel world?” the literature professor tried to explain. Potter spun around, and his worried look told Thomas the major understood.

“My world, it’s going to be now.” Orgin set his prominent jaw and gave another order over the mike. “Proceed inland. Secure your primary objectives.”

Immediately, the view from the screens of all forty men changed as they rose and moved forward in short runs. A few times they fired, the sound clear where they stood on the command boat. Nothing fired back; nothing seemed to oppose them. Then an astonished voice said something in Russian that Thomas did not understand. Several other voices joined the first, including some wolf whistles. Standing in front of at least ten of the men were the most incredibly beautiful women, naked except for a very few strategically placed leaves. Then the professor noticed that their hair also was made of leaves.

Then Potter was yelling that the women were hostiles and to fire on them. Two men managed to do so in time. Those dryads broke apart in a spray of twigs and leaves. The cameras from the other eight were now a mass of static.

It was about then that the horses—no, unicorns, Eldersen realized—burst into a clearing when almost half the remaining mercenaries had formed a defensive circle. They were beautiful and incredibly fast. They closed in on the soldiers in a fraction of a second. From the way images on the helmet cameras bounced and shifted, their single horns were quite deadly. Those who survived the initial charge of the unicorns were saved when the rest of the mercenaries burst from the forest. The horned horses disappeared into the trees, leaving three of their own and several mercs dead on the ground.

“Fire on anything that moves,” Orgin ordered. Nothing seemed to be moving, but the mercenaries were near panic. They began to spray the woods around them with short bursts. The firing had just ended when a number of men in robes and cowls appeared. They didn’t walk up or emerge from the trees. Suddenly, they just were there without even a puff of smoke.

“Everyone down,” Potter ordered while keying in a set of coordinates. The mercs dropped. A few seconds later Thomas heard a whoosh as the artillery rounds passed overhead. Looking back at the scenes from the helmet cameras they could all see the robed men raise their hands and begin to chant. Then, explosions filled the screen.

When the splinters, leaves, and dust had settled, no one on the air boat spoke. Standing unharmed were every single one of the robed men, surrounded by devastation and fallen trees. One pulled a short stick from his waist and aimed it toward the mercenaries. He said something that sounded vaguely familiar to Eldersen, paused, and then fired. The magic wand spat green flames and the screams filled the command cabin.

“If it moves, fire. Hold for further orders,” the general bellowed, slamming his hands against the airboat’s rail. “I don’t care if the target looks like your gray-haired mommy. Kill ’em all.” It was apparent Orgin was beginning to panic.

“The hell I can’t.” Orgin spun and looked as if he was going to hit the professor. It was apparent the mercenaries had given themselves the order to retreat. Soon the screens showed the inside of the hovercraft they had landed in. Looking up, Eldersen could see all four pulling off the beach and running for the portal.

“Parallel, sir.” The professor tried to keep the joy he had in the defeat out of his voice as he explained. “They aren’t any weaker than us, just different. You just tried to invade Britain with fifty men and with no surprise since it has been three days after you sent in scouts that were captured. You would have been ready. Why did you expect them to be less competent?”

“But,” Orgin started to protest even as Major Potter ordered the hydroplane’s pilot to get them back through the portal. Then the younger officer looked out and gestured urgently for them to hurry back to safety. When the professor followed his gaze, he realized why the major was panicking. They had to get out right now, or they would never leave.

Clad in sea-green webbing, water dripping from the whiskers under their shell helmets, the cold determination of an elite force in their eyes, they rose from the water spewing fire and lightning from wands attached to their flippers. The other side’s Navy Seals had joined the battle.