The Siege Against Tolkeen

"Who were you spying for?!" demanded the demon mage, its voice both smooth and menacing. "Out with it, scum!"

"I wasn't spying for anyone," Possman growled, his mouth full of blood and his hands manacled above his head. "I'm just passing through Tolkeen."

"Passing through Tolkeen in a parked, stolen van outside the great pyramid, with a pair of macrobinoculars and an unregistered laser pistol?" laughed the demon. Then, its countenance turned back to rage. "Enough with your lies!" the monster yelled, slapping the ranger's face with its clawed hand. There was a sharp, sudden pain in the side of Possman's head, and he nearly passed out. When his senses cleared, he could feel blood pouring down the injured side of his head. He was practically bleeding to death under the torture.

"Fuck you," said Possman, and he was struck again. And again. His senses were beginning to slip away from him, and he felt certain that the monster was planning to murder him. Strangely enough, he felt little fear or apprehension. He felt defiant.

"Stop it!" barked another being, just entering the torture chamber. Possman looked up, and saw a newcomer, a pale, regal man wearing a bright purple robe. There was a large, heavy kit in one of his hands, which the man seemed to have no trouble carrying. The ranger knew that most men would have been unable to lift it with two hands, let alone carry it with one.

The newcomer put the metal box down, and opened it up. Inside were sterile, glittering instruments of torture, as well as medical equipment. "You'll kill him," the man said. "Death may come eventually for this one, but only after we have shattered hi s will and stripped his mind of its secrets. He was foolish enough to be captured, and now he must face the consequences."

"It'll be a long time coming, Shaard," said the demon mage casually. "Can't you just get one of your Mind Melters to pull the secrets out of him?"

The newcomer shook his head. "I'm planning on making an example out of this one. I want him to admit his secrets while being videotaped. That will be broadcast all over Tolkeen, to scare his co-conspirators and anyone else who would stand against me. It will do no good to have some psychic inquisitor in perfect health and sanity telling how miserable the prisoner is. The words must come from our friend here's own lips. Besides, I want to test these new devices that Alistair Dunscon gave to me."

"Eat shit," said Possman, blood and saliva running down his chin. "I'll never give in."

"We'll see about that," said the dragon, extracting a small device from the kit. It was made of metal, and had a long, taped body ending in a small sphere. The dragon gently brushed the sphere against Possman.

"Ooh, real scary," said Possman. "I don't feel anyth..." Suddenly, he convulsed in pure agony, as pain shot through his body. It felt like his blood had turned to razors. When at last the pain ceased and he was able to think again, Possman realized t hat he was sobbing uncontrollably. "Fu....fu...cuk....yuh," he groaned.

The ranger's mind shot back to his training in the Coalition. There had been a section on how to resist torture. You were supposed to think all the time of a happier place, and imagine yourself there. That would keep you sane, and keep you from telling. With all his mental endurance, Possman imagined himself in a brothel full of beautiful women, all of whom desired him. He thought of the tender caresses of the women, of their sweet kisses...

And then the agony enveloped him again, pulling him out of his fantasy. When it subsided enough for him to think, he re-immersed himself in thoughts of the women. But it didn't work. The real world...the pain...intruded. That tactic would be useless for him. He switched to another one. During his training, Possman had been told that it was the duty of every prisoner to try to escape. That is what he would do. He would concentrate all of his mental energy into devising an escape route, and that would keep him sane.

The demon plunged the wand of agony back into the ranger's body, and pain shot through every nerve and fiber in Possman's brain. He thought of how glorious it would be to shove that wand down the demon's throat. He thought of whether or not one of the torture implements might serve as a lockpick. Because once he had a lockpick, the demon would die. Possman spit out a tooth, and smiled evilly.

"So this is the plan for getting in," announced Perrin, before a council of the HFA's most experienced headhunters and tacticians (there weren't many). "Snipers take up positions on nearby rooftops, and take out the guards on the outermost perimeter. Once they're gone, a team of flyers coming in at relatively low altitude starts dropping explosives down into the innermost perimeter. Once the enemy units there are gone, we airlift the snipers in, bypassing the middle perimeter. I don't want to have to waste ammo on the guard dogs."

"That'll give us access to the door. A team of our most elite troops goes in, while the others man the guard towers. When enemy reinforcements show up, they've got the fences and the dogs and our men to deal with."

"Our special ops troops get the job done inside the pyramid. Most likely they'll have to kill the members of the Grand Council, to keep the mages from casting their spell. We're looking into simpler alternatives, though. Once they're done, the troops come out, and help man the ramparts against the reinforcements. Specifically, they guard 122nd street. Because the APC that's going to get them out of there will tear down 122nd street, plow through the fences, and blow a hole in the wall for them to escape through. The men get into the APC and take off, escorted by our remaining flyers. At the first opportunity, the men eject and the personnel carrier self-destructs. They then make their ways through the back streets and sewers to our meeting place."

A slim, heavily cybered man in his late forties, wearing an overcoat two sizes too large for him, stood up. Perrin recognized him as a noted terrorist and mercenary from the New German Republic. This man had evaded NGR manhunts dozens of times, and even the CS once or twice. That had been in his glory days. Now, the man had fallen into drink and despair after the death of his squad. "You ask the impossible," he said in faintly accented American. "The only flyers we have are a few men with jet packs, and Herr Hartman's damaged Super SAMAS. That is not nearly enough to ravage a gargoyle fortification. Gargoyles are unglaublich strong creatures. To kill a force of them of this size, we will need at least vierzig combat-ready power armor troops."

"How much is vierzig?" asked Perrin. "You're in America, sir. Speak American."

"Forty," said the man after a moment of recollection. "I need to brush up on my American, just as you need to brush up on your knowledge of our forces!"

"Don't worry about it," said Perrin. "I can get enough power armor units in time. And Hartman's SAMAS should be ready in a few days."

"And where is this APC so critical to your plans?"

"I can get it."

Rick Freedom raised his hand. "Magic is an inherently evil and unpredictable thing," he began. "Who knows what awaits inside the pyramid which so epitomizes the occult? How do we know the raging forces inside will not consume our courageous men the second they step inside?"

"We don't," replied Perrin. "Not yet, anyway. But I'm planning some...surveillance which will give us more information on the interior of the pyramid."

"More surveillance?!" yelled a gang leader. "Wasn't that ranger's death enough for you? Their security's too friggin' good."

"One man dies, and you want to call off all our further surveillance? This is war, princess. People die. You don't have to like it. God knows I don't. But you have to accept it." The image of his wife flitted through Perrin's mind for a brief, painful moment. He dispelled it with some reluctance.

"Is everyone satisfied with this plan?" Perrin asked.

There were grumbles of discontent.

"Does anyone have a better plan?"

There was silence.

"In that case, meeting dismissed."

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.