The Silver Eyed Prince (Highest Royal Coven of Europe) (36 page)

Elizabeth gave him an annoyed e
xpression.

“Yes, I know. I'm bossy, inconsi
derate, etcetera—,” he grinned, “but you love me anyways.”

She yelped when he suddenly took her in his arms and dipped her low, bending down to kiss her on the lips. “We're going home,” he declared, eyes shining. “Finally, England here we come!”

At the luxurious modern facility tucked nine miles east within The Pa
lladian estates, the assassins from the European Special Warfare Command arrived at exactly 0800 hours.

Colonel Alec Gunter acknowledged the crisp salut
ations from his men, trained killers who came armed to the teeth in combat gear.

“Major Greer reporting for duty, Sir!” The tall, brawny, stern-faced blond Officer stood at attention.

“At ease, Major,” the Colonel gave him a single nod. “What is General Bradford's E.T.A.?”

“Twelve hundred hours, sir.” 

“Excellent. Get the men settled in their quarters at the Delta Annex. Briefing will commence at the Command Center in fourteen hundred hours.”

Major Greer replied with an affirmative, then, s
aluted and carried on with his task.

Colonel Gunter returned to his rooms, closed the door, and resumed packing.

A Dangerous Mission

        J
ohn Drake looked up from his desk at the urgent knocking on the door of his study. “Come in,” he called, feeling somewhat irritated by the interruption. His men had confirmed his suspicions about Elizabeth's true identity and since then, he had been busy organizing safe houses and planning several possible escape routes that might be useful in case they needed a sudden change of strategy.

“There are new developments, Your Grace,” Major Reynolds said with an urgency that made the Duke sit up and put his pen down.

“Two vehicle convoys had been spotted by our spies entering Colonel Gunter's base camp.” The Major handed him some pictures.

“How many men?” John reached over the desk to take the photos.

“The first convoy arrived at eight in the morning with eight men.” Major Reynolds showed him the images taken with a powerful zoom camera of the men who disembarked from the vehicles. “The second convoy arrived at noon with one Officer and a driver in one vehicle, and escorts in another.”

John Drake stared at the photos of the men clad in black leather, armed with silver broadswords with twin se
rrated blades tucked at their backs.

He knew from experience that more weapons were concealed in their steel-toed boots equipped with a r
elease that propel hidden frontal and lateral blades, and in armored leather arm bracers outfitted with convex falchion-like blades along the outer length of each arm.

Their hands were gloved in fingerless gauntlets; their shoulders co
vered with armored leather pauldrons, extending into a high cadet collar to protect them from decapitation.

Circling their waists in a half-moon was a thick multi-sheathed belt carrying several daggers made with r
azor-sharp, curved T-anchor tips, and designed to rip the victim's heart apart if he attempted to pull it out. He knew this because he was the unfortunate recipient of one, courtesy of the fiercest warrior he'd ever seen in combat. To this day, he could still feel the astringent spasm in his chest whenever he recalled that terror-filled raid that took the life of his friend and loyal senior Officer, General McKenzie, and his protégé, the young but trustworthy, Colonel Krider.

Both men were fine soldiers, but were no match for the feared and revered
Angel of Death.
His eyes alighted on the picture depicting the handsome, gentle countenance of Colonel Alexus Gunter. He, himself, barely survived from his clutches, having been completely incapacitated by the dagger the Colonel plunged into his chest.

However, before Colonel Gunter had the chance to finish him off, General McKenzie, by some perverse attack of courage, instigated a diversion by threatening to kill the Queen, which had effectively focused the Colonel's wrath on him. Colonel Krider had u
nwisely come to his mentor's aid and both men fell in the hands of the ferocious assassin, butchered and dismembered beyond recognition.

As to what had happened next, John had no memory. He woke up in one of their safe houses, with the staff surgeon having successfully extracted the a
nchored dagger from his heart. He later learned that his surviving men had rescued him by taking advantage of the distraction caused by General McKenzie. They escaped in the midst of the commotion, aggravated by the incredible disappearance of the Queen, which had diverted the Colonel and his men into launching a frantic search.

John Drake heaved a deep breath to relieve the heaviness weighing on his shoulders. Only fifteen out of a hu
ndred men survived the brutal massacre spearheaded by Colonel Gunter. If not for the bravery of General McKenzie, he too, would have been dead.

By the time
they deemed it safe to go back and search for survivors, all of the remains had been incinerated into a smoldering pile of cinder and ash. Not a single soldier remained intact for them to evacuate.

He leaned on his elbows on the table, forming a steeple with his fi
ngers. He lost heavily that day and two good men sacrificed their lives for his cause.
Men like that were very hard to find.

His eyes rested on the Officer in front of him. “M
ajor Reynolds, how long have you been working for me?”

“Fifty-one years in July, Your Grace.”

“Please remove your pin,” the Duke commanded.

“Your Grace?” The Major glanced at the gold oak leaf pin on his chest.

“Give it to me.” The Duke held out his hand as the Major fumbled with the catch.

“Your Grace? I don't understand—” Major Rey
nolds watched as the Duke casually threw the gold pin inside his desk drawer and rose from his chair.

“Stand at attention, Major Reynolds.” John Drake stood before him.

The Major immediately straightened and focused his gaze to the fore.

“You are hereby promoted to the rank of Colonel.” The Duke pinned a silver eagle on his uniform in place of the old one. “Congratulations, Colonel Ralph Rey
nolds.” He proffered his hand to the stunned former Major.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He shook his hand.

“It is I who should thank you, Colonel Reynolds. Your promotion has been long delayed and well deserved.” The Duke patted his shoulder and indicated the seat before his desk. “Now, let's get on with business.” He regarded the surveillance picture of the newly arrived officer. “Have you identified this man?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It is General Bradford of the E
uropean Royal Army.”

John Drake instantly recognized the name. The General was well known for his brilliant military tactics and proficiency in weapons. Obviously, his arrival t
ogether with the team of assassins meant they’d discovered a threat to Elizabeth and her mother. Whether they knew the danger was from his camp or not, they must act fast before Colonel Gunter and the General joined forces.

“We must put our plan into action very soon.” He glanced at Colonel Reynolds as he shuffled through the rest of the pictures. “Our soldiers are not fit to go against the Colonel and his assassins in man to man co
mbat, but we could overwhelm them by sheer numbers. Three hundred men—, enough to keep them engaged so we can focus on our primary target. We'll launch our campaign at night, when our men are most confident.” His eyes met Colonel Reynold's across the desk.

He need not remind him that Colonel Gunter a
mbushed their camp at high noon, using sunlight to their advantage, catching them off guard, unaccustomed to fighting in broad daylight.

“I will gather the men for immed
iate briefing, Your Grace,” Colonel Reynolds replied grimly.

“Intensify your surveillance. We need to know ev
ery move they make. Avoid unnecessary confrontation. We must be able to execute our plans at a moment's notice when there is a lapse in security.”

“I will see to it, Your Grace.”

“Very well.” The Duke dismissed him and watched him walk towards the door with a bleak expression on his face. Both of them knew the price of the dangerous mission they were about to embark on. There would be heavy casualties and many lives would be lost, not to mention the relentless pursuit of the vicious European Army that they must contend with, afterwards.

Ways to Kill

       Elizabeth couldn't keep her mind on Dr. Jeff's class no matter how hard she tried. She glanced once again towards the back row where Chad liked to sit.
Where is he?
She sighed and flicked another sideways peek, this time at the opposite corner.

“What are you doing?” Lela whi
spered next to her.

“Looking for Chad,” she murmured, darting her eyes at Dr. Jeff who was writing on the board. “Have you guys seen him?”

“No,” Lela said under her breath. “Haven't seen him since we left the two of you waiting for Prince William.”

Elizabeth toyed with her pen. Chad had not been around since the two strange men appeared yesterday. She slid her gaze towards the doors where each one was posted. They wore black leather outfits like Major Ale
xander and were constantly alert and watchful. She had asked William about them and he had insinuated that they were there to keep things in order.
Or where they there, more specifically, to keep others from bullying her?

She frowned and stole another glimpse at the last row as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period.
Where’s Chad? Why isn't he answering her calls and texts?
She realized how much she missed him—, and Bryan, too. She took out her phone and typed, “Wish you were here,” in response to Bryan’s text earlier. He’d been asking when she would come home from her Aunt Karen’s in New York, and she’d been dodging him with vague answers. She stared at his picture on the screen with a sigh, before slipping the phone back in her bag as she stood up to follow her friends out the door.

Combat class was held inside the open-air coliseum. Elizabeth watched as Major Alexander stood in front of the class, carrying an unusual-looking silver sword.

“Uh-oh,” Ben murmured. “I hope we're not his guinea pigs.”

“Sshhh!” Lela glared at him as the Major hoisted the sword in the air, the reflection of the bright coliseum lights bouncing off its blade.

Major Alexander pinned his eyes in their direction. “Mr. Walker!”

“Absent!” Ben ducked behind Lela.

The Major swung his sword back and forth, making swishing sounds as he went. “Mr. Walker, if you're g
oing to pretend you're not in class, try not to wear a yellow hat with a mini propeller on top. I can spot you from a mile away. Come here. Now.”

“Go!” Lela shoved Ben, who dashed to the front.

“Ah, Miss Ikeda.” Major Alexander shifted his attention to Lela. “Why don't you tell us about the ways to destroy a Deimon, while I demonstrate the process with Mr. Walker here?”

“D-demonstrate, Sir?” Lela gulped. “By decapit
ation and dismemberment?”

“Correct—, with t
he use of a sword made of sterling silver, a pure metal of the highest thermal and electrical conductivity that stings and burns on contact.” The Major held the weapon in a horizontal position to show two layers of serrated blades, separated by less than an inch of space in between. “The blades are sharpened to perfection, designed to make a precise, but severely mutilated cut.” He swung the weapon with both hands in a wide arc over his head, stopping within inches of Ben's neck. “The more mangled the injury, the longer the recovery.”

The mini propeller on Ben's hat began to rotate slowly and shake.

“Are you all right, Mr. Walker?” Major Alexander jabbed the sword to the ground.

“I think I almost had a misca
rriage, Sir.” Ben stood motionless like a zombie. “But other than that, I'm okay.”

“Good. Now—, Miss Ikeda?” The M
ajor turned to where Lela stood.

“Yes, Sir.” Lela swallowed.

“Why do we dismember or decapitate an enemy?”

“To disable him, Sir.”

“Very good.” Major Alexander inserted the sword in its scabbard on his back. “Unlike humans, we are highly resilient and durable. Dismemberment and decapitation are considered major traumatic injuries, but they do not cause immediate complete systemic failure, therefore, regeneration is possible.

“But I must warn you. If you do not cremate your enemy within an hour of decapitation and dismembe
rment, the severed parts will drift and locate the torso. If contact occurs, swift recovery begins. Before you know it, your enemy is back on its feet with a vengeance. Now—, Miss Ikeda, do you know of any other method to debilitate the enemy more severely?”

“By plunging a dagger through the heart?”