AN- Okay, you guys are lucky. No more restrictions. I'll update once I get the stupid chapter written from now on. But it's not necessarily because you guys didn't review and I caved in; no, I just don't want those who review to actually have to wait too long.
I know this chapter is shorter than usual. Deal with it. A lot happens, and the battle officially begins. So hah.
Thanks to all those who did review, and curses to those that didn't. I wish bad luck upon you guys. Suffer for all I care. And now, without further ado, chap. 29.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Donovan watched as nine of his men broke open the crate before them, and the rifles were quickly distributed between the men. He grinned as the Corporal, a Durvagorian named David Âmul, made sure that the weapons' serial numbers were collected. Some of the Durvagorians caught on quickly, able to deal with Donovan's strict rules. "Jack," David told one of his men, "Go get your grenade launcher, and Peter, you go get your shotgun." The two men nodded, and headed off towards two different areas where weapons were being distributed.
Donovan approached the Corporal, and David snapped to attention when he saw the half-vampire. "At ease, Corporal. How are your men doing?"
"Very good, sir!" David answered crisply.
"Come, walk with me." Of course, David couldn't refuse. After all, it was the Dark Wanderer who had asked him, a man that most of the Durvagorians looked up to in the utmost respect. Donovan walked out of the storage room and towards the Great Gate. Durvagorians were everywhere, preparing the city for the upcoming battle. David turned his head to look at twelve Durvagorians who were lugging four Ma Deuces up to the walkway above the gate itself. He stared at the size of the ammo boxes that some of the men carried…they were huge!
Evidently Donovan noticed, for he started laughing, though the laugh was not one of amusement. "Over the past week and a half I have made so many weapons that it makes the head spin," Donovan said wistfully. A pair of Durvagorians ran past, a box of mines balanced carefully between the two of them.
"Sir?" David asked, confused as to what his lord was saying.
"Well, your weapons didn't just magically appear!" he laughed, and he paused amusedly. "Actually, come to think of it, they did. I have made you men seven-hundred sixty M16s. Add eighty M203s, Remington 870MCS's, and M249 light machine guns, and that's eighty each, mind you. A total of two hundred thirty-three Colt .45s were also created, and those are just the weapons of the light infantry companies, all eight hundred of you, and the side arms of the entire unit. Ten Mortars and ten Anti-material rifles.
"Twenty RAD sniper rifles, and twenty fifty caliber machine guns. One thousand Ka-Bar knives, and eight hundred tomahawks, be it Rifleman or Vietnam. Plus two hundred of those gun stock war clubs."
David grinned. "Yeah, Peter got himself one of those. Particularly nasty buggers, those weapons. Saw him practice throwing his. Didn't even know you could use one of the fuckers like that."
"And you know those five grenades you have? I had to make four thousand M67s to sufficiently equip you with the bare requirement. An order will be passed throughout the army: don't use the grenades unless it's in the street situations. Follow that order, trust me. At least I had fun making the claymores. Eight hundred twenty, that is including the four equipped to all squads of the light infantry, by the way. But five hundred are out there," he nodded towards Pelennor Fields, "waiting to be detonated, along with five hundred standard anti-personnel mines and one hundred anti tank mines. And don't even get me started about ammunition, I'm going to be having nightmares about that for weeks to come as it is," he muttered darkly. He looked at David, who jumped under his scrutinizing stare. "Sixty thousand. That's how many rounds of M16 standard ammo is equipped to this army, not including the ammo stockpiles located along the walls. And you'll still probably run out of ammo, especially once the orcs get into this city, which they probably will in the end."
Donovan sighed heavily and walked out the Great Gate, watching units of Durvagorians bury and plant mines, as well as veritable thickets of pungee sticks. "'Scuse me, sir," a Durvagorian who had been adhering claymores to the two great outcroppings of stone on either side of the gate rushed past Donovan, checking to make sure that the detonation cords were set properly.
Donovan's radio crackled. He pulled it out of its holster. Keying the talk button, he held it near his mouth. "Donovan speaking. What is it? Over."
There was a short burst of static, and then Matt's voice was heard. "Sir, where do you want the mortars? Over." Donovan didn't have to think hard about that one.
"Fourth wall, over and out."
"Ten-four."
Donovan's radio grew silent again as several Durvagorians carried bundles upon bundles of pungee sticks out the gate. As another Durvagorian was heading through the gate into the city, Donovan grabbed his arm. "Sergeant, tell some of your men to guard the detonators for the mines. Let no one get within fifteen feet of them. Anyone who wants to leave the city has to be escorted by an officer who knows the location of all the mines and traps, understood? Otherwise none are allowed to leave this gate!"
The sergeant nodded, saluting Donovan, before turning and sprinting into the city, barking orders. Donovan picked up his radio. "Matt."
There was a short pause. "Yessir?"
"Tell whoever is in charge of the mines that once all of them are deployed to deactivate them."
"Sir?"
Donovan sighed before he keyed the talk button. "Each and every one of the pressure sensitive mines is able to be activated and deactivated be a remote control. There is one control for every hundred mines, remember? This lessens the chance of unfortunate accidents happening, like a Gondorian civilian getting his or her leg blown of just because they wanted to go for a happy little stroll through the bloody Pelennor!"
"Yessir, I'll relay that order."
"Be sure to, soldier." He replaced his walkie-talkie to its holster. He walked out so that he could shout to the Durvagorians that were on the wall directly above the gate, David still following him. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Donovan looked up to the men. "Hey!" he shouted. "Put four of those fifties above the gate. The rest of them should be at even intervals along the wall, understand?"
"Yes sir!" someone shouted back.
His radio came alive again. Before he could pick it up, a voice started speaking. "The m-ninety-one snipers are set up on the third wall as ordered. The fifty-cal snipers are set up on the spire, just like you said. End report, over and out."
"The mortars are up, positions marked with chalk, just as ordered sir."
"Mines are almost set out, only half an hour to go."
"Ammo nearly completely distributed. Ammo caches being set up on the wall."
Donovan smiled. It was finally all coming together now. The sun was about an hour from setting, and tonight had to be the night that Mordor would finally send its ungodly assault. The clouds of war had finally settled over Minas Tirith.
"Hullo, Durandir!" a flutelike voice said as a hand tugged on his pant leg. Donovan looked down to see Pippin smiling up at him.
"Hey, hobbit." He ruffled Pippin's hair. "Tonight, I think, your waiting will finally come to an end."
"I concur, Donovan," came a wise voice. Gandalf had come, the first time the half-vampire had seen him in a while. "It seems you have done my job for me," the wizard said, eyes twinkling merrily. "Hope has come yet again to Gondor. Boromir has returned, and this city is now prepared for siege."
"But are they prepared for the siege that is on the horizon?" Donovan asked seriously. He sighed, and turned towards David. "Dismissed, soldier. Return to your men, they should be done getting their gear."
The Durvagorian saluted snappily and ran back into the city. Donovan was happy to see that his men were able to complete the rest of the preparations without him. He picked up his radio. "Matt, you're now in command while I go rest for a short while. Don't forget to set up the HQ tent up with the radios like I specified. Understand?"
The radio hissed, and then, "Ten-four."
Donovan smiled toothily, and replaced the radio to its holster. "Well, Gandalf. I'm going to go rest. Could you have somebody wake me up when that beacon thing comes from Minas Morgul?" he asked.
One of Gandalf's eyebrows rose. "'Beacon thing'?"
"You'll see what I'm talking about. See you later Pippin." And with that he headed back into the city. As he walked past the bustling people of Gondor and the few knots of his own troops, he decided to visit the Golden Boar again. He found the tavern again with no problem, and stepped into it without hesitation.
All the men in the barroom turned and looked at him with shock. "Hey, Orodreth," he smiled, this time not hiding his teeth. "I guess I wasn't lying when I said that Boromir lived still, huh?" The men only continued to stare at him in shock. "Yes, I am Dain, but I am also Donovan, leader of the thousand soldiers that arrived a while ago."
"B-but…"
"But what? I just came to let you guys know that you shouldn't always doubt what you hear. See you later, if you don't die in the upcoming siege." And he turned and left. As he began to make the long journey up to his quarters, he was inwardly laughing, not caring that people made sure to stay away from him, making it so he was always alone. Even if he did notice, he wouldn't have cared. He had always been alone, at least until Elenloth had showed up, but now…
Donovan shook his head stubbornly as he entered his room. He would not think about that right now, he had to stay focused. If he wasn't focused, he couldn't fight as well. But he could not stop the pain of his desire to see Elenloth again. Ever since she didn't answer his question even thinking of her brought such pain to his soul that it hurt, both physically and mentally. The conflict between the two halves of his soul was worsening. The pain ripped into his stomach and he felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest, making it almost impossible to breath.
Memories flashed to him: Elenloth smiling in the sunlight; laughing at something he had said; the way she felt when he had kissed her. Concentrate on breathing, think of something else. Cave troll, knife, stabbing the knee. Slowly the pain faded, and he felt as though he had run fifty miles. He was dimly aware of his vampire side feeling smug. He weakly crawled over to the bed, and fell into it. He was glad there would be a battle soon; his vampire side was getting bored. And a bored vampire is a dangerous vampire. He fell asleep at that thought.
And he was awake before the person even knocked upon the door. He grasped his katana and had it ready to draw when the knocks came. "Who is it?" he called out brazenly.
"Donovan, it is time," Gandalf's aged voice answered.
Donovan was ready to go within seconds. He strapped on his left arm's armor as he opened the door. "Good," he smiled wolfishly. He stepped into the street, the exact opposite of the white wizard. The dark warrior was finally ready for the largest battle in his life. Cerul, can you meet me on the spire?
'Do you mean like last time?'
Yes.
'I will be there.'
Donovan sprinted as fast as he could to the spire after he said goodbye to Gandalf. He slid to a halt when he was at the gates of the Citadel. He could see the hellish green beam of light still coming from the far off city. He charged down the length of the spire and again leapt off of the gargantuan stone formation. As he fell he gave a wild scream of exhilaration. It was so wild to be falling to your death and get picked up by a dragon. Cerul this time fly parallel to the ground, timing it so she passed under Donovan just as he reached the saddle on her neck.
He landed hard, but took it in stride as he strapped himself in. Shall we see what your flame can do to orcs?
Cerul didn't answer via mind-link, she roared her acknowledgement. She blew over the Pelennor fields, wind whistling over her wings and body. They were flying so fast that they soared over Osgiliath in a matter of ten seconds, the city flashing by below them. They followed the road towards the ghostly city, exhilarated to the point of madness in their chance to finally strike at their enemies in a decisive first strike. A whistling shriek suddenly hit them, followed by a loud roar. The Witch-king and his fell mount. Though the screech hurt Donovan's ears, he felt no fear. Rather, the dark magic filled him with blood-lust. At that moment he so wished he had something that he could tear apart with his bare hands and watch its life blood soak the ground and sate his thirst.
He gave an insane and dark laugh as the long lines of the orc army finally came into view. As they hurtled towards the army, Donovan felt Cerul take a deep breath. Just as they were only two hundred yards away from the orcs Cerul let loose her fire.
It was like watching lightning-bright fire rage in terrible wrath. The bright beam of fire tore into the orcs, scattering them, burning them into nothingness as it rolled over the lines, the light illuminating the entire area as smoke started to fly into the air from the fire.
But then Donovan noticed something that made his blood run cold. The orcs that the dragon and half-vampire hadn't reached yet all had weapons that Donovan instantly recognized. Black-powder rifles from the Civil War era, and cannons from the same time. Though shocked at the sudden arrival of a dragon so close to their homeland, several hundred rifles are fired. The air was suddenly filled with hisses and snaps of bullets passing near the two.
Sparks flashed into the night as dozens of rounds hit Cerul. She screamed in agony and rage as a few of the bullets passed through her wings and punctured her strong draconic armor. "Cerul, GET US OUTTA HERE!"
Cerul needed no other prompting. She rocketed upward as fast as she could, exiting the range of the weapons. Leaving behind the remainders of her fires and several hundred thousand shocked, pissed, and scared orcs.
Once the dragon figured that she and her rider were safe, she leveled out, and began to glide towards Osgiliath. Donovan saw red. How dare they! How could they? There was no way that they could have that many firearms that quickly, it was a logistical nightmare. He had problems giving just one thousand people sufficient weapons and ammo. He saw thousands of rifles in that army. Maybe even tens of thousands. And there was only one person that he knew of that could make these weapons: James.
I thought I killed that bastard at Helm's Deep! Donovan silently raged. And suddenly the logical part of his mind prevailed. There was no way that James could have made that many at his current level of power. He needed another source of power, a weapon that could have the potential to make him ruler of Middle Earth. The One Ring of Power. Donovan's mind froze at that thought. Gods help us!
