The War (Play to Live: Book #6) Page 2

  I frowned. This antiquated artillery could deal an average damage of 5,000 points to any stationary object per shot. That was pretty high. Multiply that by three hundred, and you are looking at a million and a half HP lost in the blink of an eye. Hell, they’ll make flour out of Tianlong’s skeleton in the next thirty minutes.

  Focusing on my interface, I sent a brief order via the officer chat: "Code Red. Directive: Trojan Horse. Attn communications officer; spotter channel access code is alpha-three-rock. Grab the coordinates of the siege machine yard, calculate portal exit points, synchronize your actions with the Trojans!"

  The enemy army was slowly rotating its ranks beneath our walls, looking like a giant merry-go-round. The Lights cleverly used their primary advantage; their immense numerical superiority.

  Their clan columns and various detached forces would advance toward the dragon. Within minutes they’d bring down all of their mana supply and extensive arsenal of battle abilities upon us. Then they’d rotate systematically; one ensign would replace another, and a fresh batch of enemy lines would squeeze into the rather narrow firing sector.

  As this had been their routine for the past two and a half days, it was clear that the enemy intended to take us by exhaustion. In theory, we would’ve had no time to sleep, and our ammo and alchemic supplies would have been almost depleted by now while most of our class skills would certainly need to be recharged.

  Praised be Chronos’s Temple! Our enemies would run themselves into the ground and bust their balls before they’d see us get tired.

  The Lightsiders’ fighting wheel had turned yet again, putting the 1.5 thousand strong "D.C. United" detachment before the castle walls.

  Comments flooded the battle-chat:

  "Our old friends there are having a sixth go!"

  "They shoulda stayed home playing football, asswipes!"

  "Prepare for a hailstorm of fire. Most of their wizards are Flame and Lava pros!"

  "Ranger Crafty Luis is mine! I have a score to settle with him: ‘two-to-one’ and the Arch Enemy status. Gimme a clean shot at that asshole!"

  "There he is, in the backpack of that ogre in green pants. The bastard got himself a comfy spot!"

  "I see him! All right, buddy, chew on this mithril bolt blessed by Aulë himself!"

  "I have been dispelled! All my buffs are gone! Moving to the rear!"

  "Listen up, left wing here, support echelon covering teeth nine through fourteen. We have merged. I repeat, we have merged! Watch out, the enemy is charging sector by sector. We’ve been hit by at least a hundred wizards at once."

  "Third archer detachment; salvo fire on the first quarter of the column! Rangers; fleximode, shoot down the casters! Wizards; pick up yer skirts and take cover! You’ll attack once the enemy’s spent, from the rear."

  "Goddammit, catapult shot in the stomach! My spine’s busted! I’m paralyzed for three minutes! Heal me, quick!"

  "‘South’ Arrowlauncher here; take the machine off the list. The mechanism’s all busted up. I’m joining the infantry."

  "Get him in the eye! Punch him like a squirrel!"

  "Sorry, guys, I’m going offline. School’s over, gotta pick up my kid. I did all I could, hang in there!"

  "Guys, will trade one House of Pleasures token for five ‘Extra-Dinner’ coupons!"

  "No spam in chat! Pooh, when’s your binging spree over already?!"

  "Dudes, I’m done here. I can’t be knee-deep in lava, breathe acid fumes and tear arrows outta myself. I have pyrophobia and asthma."

  "Replacement needed for 319, he’s fried. Alex, don’t panic, just make your way toward the rear. We’ll getcha feeling better again; plenty of rest, beer, girls! You’ll be in great shape in just a day."

  "Watch out! Tianlong’s feeling sick again, he’s gonna throw up!"

  "Ha! Come on, dragon, puke raw mana! The Americans standing right before the skull have just lifted up their shields. Buncha retards!"

  "Need ammo, goddammit, I’m out! Just opened the last box of pila. Where are those bandy-legged dwarves from the ammunition supply point?"

  "Cleric groups four, six, and eight; your replacements will be arriving any minute now. Head to the rear in ten seconds for recovery."

  "Fuck me, how many people do we have here? My capsule’s lagging. I’ll be watching a slideshow soon."

  "Ha, you should go perma. Kickass graphics, zero lag!"

  "Folks, we got a Seraphim rotting away here, with a Soul Stone! Someone pick it up, or I’ll destroy the bastard. He’s taking up half the wall!"

  "Leave it for the clan leader! That’s a clanwide order, all stones 350 and up are his."

  "Stealth groups Shadow, Ear-choppers, and Thunderstorm; assume positions. Shadow; distract the counter-subversive guard. Ear-choppers; take down the wounded and those left behind. Thunderstorm; you are to transport gravestones and the enemy’s master-loot corpses. Don’t get carried away slaughtering. Pounce, strike, withdraw, or I’ll tear your legs off!"

  "That’s it, we’re fucked. What kinda Big Bertha they got firing back there?! I got crushed by a stone the size of a van! Who’s on our evacuation team now, whom should I ask to bring my grave back?"

  I left the chat and raised my head, surveying the enemy fire. Surely enough, they were firing everything. Cobble-stones, cannonballs, giant spears, harpoons, and barrels with various filth – all this poured from the sky nonstop, creating the illusion of a crumbling ceiling. Boy, were they serious this time!

  One of the projectiles knocked a loyal she-elf off the wall. Orcus, his armor already dented, instantly squeezed into her spot.

  "Sir, it’s time!" he cried.

  I nodded. Pulling up the interface, I launched the one-minute countdown to the start of the operation. I then did the same in the private communication channel for my Trojans to see. Those guys had mixed with the attackers, pretending to be on their side, and volunteered to defend the siege machine park.

  Instantly requests to obtain a temporary alliance membership started pouring in; we didn’t any friendly fire problems.

  One…Two…Three…Five…Well, where’s that last one?! Six, gotcha! I let them all in and glanced over the freshly acquired reinforcements.

  They were mostly Flint’s Light Bearers who had lost a few members, and also Flint’s supporters. Basicallly all the left-overs from the old alliance, the perma warriors from the the Sullen Angels and the Golden Eagle. They had split off from the OMON.

  The old man had kept his word. His digitized granddaughter really was the meaning of his life, and her rescue had guaranteed his everlasting loyalty.

  A thousand and a half hotheaded Southern boys covered the massive trebuchets. That was practically all of the Italian cluster’s merc guild. As it turned out, Don Lucchesi, whom I was already acquainted with, had complete control of the guild.

  There was a certain clause in our secret agreement that covered the sharing of the storage space inside the Crypt of Chronos. This clause granted me analogous access rights to the Cosa Nostra’s battle units.

  Then there was the heavily-armed cavalry from Freetown led by King Rain the Wise himself. His intent to take part in the public flogging of the First Priest aroused no suspicion; the article about our raid on his town had remained the top story of every news blog for a while. And for a good reason! The description of the loot we’d taken alone filled nearly ten pages of small font and a few hundred photos. Ample drooling guaranteed.

  The king’s intimidating guardsmen never got to chill with the other defense units. The cavalry, being highly advanced for those times, was appointed to a sector on the left flank.

  That was all right though; the armor-clad warriors would easily make their way through the ranks of the unsuspecting White Collars by riding in from the side, then beat the Drunken Sailors, and would finally reach the siege machine perimeter.

  The king’s quartermasters had taken 4,000 Molotov Cocktails from our storehouses with unflinching determination. I hoped that every bottl
e would cost the enemy plenty of wood once we attacked their siege machines…

  There were also three international brigades out there: Koreans, Vietnamese, and Japanese. The Asians liked the taste of blood. They were glad to have the opportunity to rip the flesh out of the necks of the well-fed Western world representatives. The reps of the more venturesome had barely finished counting their loot in the Chinese cluster when they proceeded to get in touch with me again. "Got more?" they asked.

  "Do I ever! Listen up!" I replied then.

  And now, this patchwork power would get to say its weighty utterance.

  "Charge!" I ordered via all communication channels.

  The next instant, a third of the enemies guarding the siege machinery yard put on our colors. The radar filled with green markers, so pleasant to the eye.

  The attacking masses roared, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to deal the first blow in the back of the unsuspecting foe. Thousands of enemies gave panicked cries of horror as they were villainously impaled on sharp steel.

  Just imagine an overcrowded bus; half the passangers secretly reach into their sleeves, pull out blades and attack the sleepy civilians in a well-coordinated fashion. Which side would you put your money on?

  At the same time, dozens of cargo portals opened up within the tight square perimeter of the artillery. These gates had cost an entire chest of gold, but the Guards of the First Temple needed them to pounce on the enemy.

  "Keeyah!"

  The enemy was expecting us. That’s why there were fifteen thousand warriors defending the siege machinery, perfectly capable of crushing any breakthrough operation. However, the enemy was not expecting to suddenly lose five thousand guards, all of whom would switch to our side. No one knew that they’d get stabbed in the liver by their supposed comrades.

  My warriors emerged amdist the defensive formations of the Lightsiders like a mad wolf which had managed to jump over the backs of sheep forming a defensive circle.

  The ground shook. The sky wept piteously as the astral world filled with bloodthirsty beings. Swift was the carnage of twenty thousand sentient beings.

  Our allies hit the enemy fast, pushing themselves to the limit. They used up all of their battle and divine abilities during the three-minute assault. The enemy, on the other hand, needed time to wake up, to realize the gravity of the situation, and to stop trying to save their last chance abilities as they usually did.

  This was the peak of our effort. We bet on victory in the first round, on knocking out our opponents. We did not want any duels or protracted face-to-face battles. We wanted to fight right under our enemy’s nose to make them struggle as they tried to turn around their hundred thousand army.

  In sixty seconds, the enemy guards’ first resistance attempt was successfully thwarted. Warriors sloshed through blood. Guts dangled everywhere. Both the assailants and the guards turned a grayish-red color.

  There were a few enemy survivors here and there; the ogres still spun their clubs like a helicopter its blades; the mighty trolls still danced their awkward dance of death.

  There were dozens of spots where the enemy warriors had huddled up together and now stood back to back, heroically repelling the attacks of the Guards of the First Temple’s minor forces.

  But they didn’t matter. Our goal was neither scoring another thousand frags nor getting more barrels filled with European valuables. Our goal was to reach the delicate machinery capable of bringing down the venerable Tianlong.

  Ninety seconds; half of the assailants raced forward, taking out the covering forces and evading the centers of resistance. From a bird’s eye view, they looked like circles on the water, expanding outward. They chased away the stunned enemy fighters, pushing them off the siege machinery perimeter. When they reached the artillery positions, the Guards of the First Temple, bristled with sharp steel and shields, cordoned off the area.

  The enemy army was already sending the first fast response units our way. With a furious roar, the warriors turned around, splitting up into giant formations to win back the machinery which had been stolen right from under their nose.

  The horsemen of Rain the Wise were overly cautious. The life of a guardsman was priceless, so the NPCs avoided direct combat. Instead, they rode in circles around the camp, cutting down the valuable catapult operating staff and swiftly drinking the players’ hot blood. Purple flashes appeared as the riders reached new levels. They could be seen even through the thick smoke and the raging napalm flames of the Molotovs.

  Everyone on our side fought like a relentless lunatic. The glow of the expanding portal arches made it bright as day outside. The warriors of the rear forces hung like ants from the heavy machinery. Cussing, they pulled it over to their territory. The crushed foot and broken finger count soared.

  A hundred and twenty seconds; our external guard formation encircling the yard was already facing serious attacks. They retreated slowly, allowing themselves to be slaughtered in order to buy the other units more time. Each barrel of blood spilled gave the darkside looters an extra second.

  Whether it was worth it or not depended on how one looked at the situation. The ancient magical technology for launching heavy objects to kill one’s fellow human beings cost anywhere from 10,000 to a 100,000 per unit. So around 50,000 on average. Plus supplies, ammo, spells, and the trained operating team with no other skills.

  This was a substantial sum, but not a critical one. But when that number got multiplied by 300, the final sum of 1.5 million dollars was suddenly a good enough reason to risk both suicide and getting caught, even if that meant seeing the sky only from behind bars for some time.

  Two hundred seconds; our external guards got trampled into the ground. The crowd of a 100,000 furious warriors smashed into the scanty covering force like a tsunami into a sand castle. A few of our epic warriors still miraculously fought back in this fierce river of bodies. The divine buff “Our Cause is Right” must have been a real shot in the arm for them.

  Faith worked miracles for us. Each blow we dealt was deadly. The enemies dropped to our feet like ears of rye to the feet of the reaper. But you can’t plug up a ruptured dam with your butt. The enemy pushed forward with all their might, ignoring the bubbling waves of blood and the scanty obstacles in their way.

  The siege machinery yard flared up with the flame of the alchemic termite. It burned away the oxygen and made the wind blow in different directions, pulling the black smoke to and fro.

  The sooty figures of our allies, their smouldering equipment glistening, tossed the last of the third round loot into the portals: spear bundles for arrow launchers, barrels of oil, coils of rope and ammo.

  The cavalry horses gave frightened cries as their manes caught fire. They struggled to enter Freetown’s portal arch, fighting against the force of the portal wind.

  The boisterous Italian boys laughed as they burned. They found it funny to be fighting amidst so much fire. Somewhere in the outskirts of the astral world, the ancient ifrits squinted in bewilderment as they took these warriors for some unfamiliar kinsmen.

  The dwarves in their burning armor were cursing all at once as they took apart the Big Bertha. They shoved the gigantic trebuchet into the portal piece by piece. Surely such means of transportation were a compliment to the mad gigantomaniac engineer commissioned to build the trebuchet.

  I watched all this from the top of the bone wall. A wave of apprehension swept over me. The operation was a success, no doubt. But I had not expected the enemy to get this furious over the financial damage we had just caused.

  The distance separating us began to shrink. A hundred thousand strong army of Lightsiders raced toward Tianlong…

  Chapter Two

  Our operating forces counter displayed a pitiful three-digit number. Most of the warriors with a “ready to fight” status were already on the walls.

  The siege machinery park diversion had been our peak effort, a nearly impossible feat. We had accomplished it thanks to our great excitement
, our crunching, torn muscles, the help of all our temporary allies, the activation of “last hope” buffs, and the mass discharge of abilities.

  After such strain, relapsing into a more relaxed state was inevitable. At least 30,000 graves dotted the lands beneath the castle walls, making them nearly impassable. A fifth of all the lopsided gravestones out there was ours.

  The game designers played along with the environment; stuffed ravens cawed in a sad voice, clouds covered the sky, and stray dogs which seemed to come out of thin air fought over suspicious-looking bones…

  One could reconstruct the entire battle scene by simply strolling through the man-made cemetery. Every granite headstone with Slavic characters was surrounded by ten headstones bearing writings in different languages. The latter were mostly the widely known Latin alphabet characters intermingled with some exotica: ornate Georgian lettering, mixed Russian-Ukrainian Galich dialect, san-serif Baltic Gothic writing…

  In one spot, there were these two lopsided gravestones with their back sides leaning against each other like they were one. The warriors stood back to back even in death. One was a Russian sailor from the Kronstadt clan “Navy,” the other a sworn Ukranian brother from Odessa’s “Black Coats.”

  These two were surrounded by enemies, but they fought knowing that they had each other’s back. And even when one of them fell, his headstone still shielded his comrade from behind, protecting him like a sturdy coat of mail.

  The outer guardsmen were splattered on the ground. Their headstones had endured just as much damage as the warriors themselves. The graves were studded with arrows, covered with knife marks, and dented where the battle axes had hit. You couldn’t destroy the grave, but defiling it was easy as long as you lacked decent moral qualities.

  Nearby, there was a 300-foot-tall heap of fallen Lightsters’ headstones. It towered over everything else like a solemn memorial.