by Eric Thomson
“And how far would that troop of special operators be willing to go?” Talyn asked.
“Don’t you worry about them, Hera.” Redmon gave her an ironic smirk. “Remember, they’ve acted as intelligence’s hired guns more than once when the job was too much for your own bunch.”
“Point taken.” Talyn shook her head ruefully. “I’d still be happier if I could reach out to Captain Ulrich. I’ve known him for twenty years as well. Even though he’s an officer who’s never served in the ranks,” a faint smile softened her features, “I can’t see him having a shred of patience with Black Sword. We’d do better with your buddies and his backing.”
“Please, Hera. We’ve debated that ad nauseam.” Decker allowed a hint of exasperation to color his tone. “Ulrich’s a creature of Fleet HQ, a uniformed politician like any admiral or general. As much as I like his style, he’s been up to his neck in the swamp for years. That’s bound to leave a mark on the most honest individual.”
Talyn raised her hands in surrender.
“All right. I won’t say another word on the subject. Back to Fort Arnhem. If something happens to you, how long do we wait until we assume you’re not coming back?”
Decker shrugged.
“Give me a day to travel, then another day to recover from the piss up at the Pegasus Club. There’s bound to be a celebration marking my return from the fires of hell. One more day to assemble a team and a final day to return.”
“Ha! Hilarious, Zack. Four days, then?”
“Yep.” He climbed to his feet. “I’ll go make a few purchases. Anything I can bring back for either of you?”
*
At six in the morning, Sanctum’s train station was still quiet. The first of the two daily commuter crowds wouldn’t pass through for another hour and mostly involved passengers coming into work from outlying areas. Decker was heading in the opposite direction, out of town.
He had determined, by consulting a schedule the previous evening, that three passenger trains a day ran each way on the line connecting Sanctum with settlements established in the broad Nestor River Valley. It was one of Caledonia’s prime agricultural areas, stretching out for over a thousand kilometers from the capital.
Fort Arnhem, home of the Pathfinder School and the 1st Special Forces Regiment, lay a mere ten kilometers north of Carrick, the last major town at the valley’s far end, where the fertile fields tapered off into untamed, native wilderness.
Decker bought a seat using some of Talyn’s anonymous cred chips and settled on a bench by the departures platform. He tucked his stubble-covered chin against his chest and pulled a battered hat low over his eyes. Decker wore the disposable clothes preferred by manual laborers, scuffed second-hand boots, and an old surplus army battle dress jacket.
He had strapped his sole weapon, the Pathfinder blade, to his left forearm, out of sight but ready at hand. Talyn had suggested he take a blaster, something he’d declined, arguing that by the time he needed one, the situation would be beyond recovery. And since Caledonian cops frowned on firearms in the hands of vagrants, it would be best not to tempt fate.
No one paid him the slightest attention, not even the police patrol doing its morning rounds. When the first outbound train of the day pulled up, he elected to settle in the last carriage, just ahead of the freight pods. He knew from his younger days that most passengers would look for seats nearer to the front, by the dining section.
A whistle, mostly to keep up ancient railway traditions, an announcement in several languages, and they began moving smoothly and silently, picking up speed once they left Sanctum. Riding on a magnetic cushion over a single rail, the train could make the nine hundred kilometer run from Sanctum to Carrick in four hours, intermediate stops included. It cost a fraction of an aircar’s fee, and there were no ID checks.
With an ease born of long practice, Decker fell into a light sleep, waking briefly at each stop, until a voice announced their arrival in Carrick, the end of the Nestor Valley line.
He stepped out into the late morning sunshine with the remaining passengers and stretched his cramped muscles. A ten-kilometer walk would take him another two hours, meaning he’d better find lunch now. Otherwise, his stomach’s complaints would be loud enough to wake the dead.
Zack knew just where to go. It was a place favored by Pathfinders and run by a veteran who’d been a jumper himself. His feet took him there without conscious thought.
He was polishing off a breakfast platter that could have fed an entire squad when a Marine staff sergeant wearing a Pathfinder School crest on his sleeve walked in and sat at the counter.
“Hey Ernie,” he called out to the proprietor, “how are they hanging?”
“Unchanged from the last time you poked your head in here, young Carlo. Coffee and a sandwich?”
“You’re the man, Ernie.”
Carlo gave Zack the once-over but showed no signs of recognition. Decker couldn’t place him either though he looked vaguely familiar.
The promised sandwich appeared in a matter of moments, proof Carlo was a regular. Both men ate in silence, taking occasional sips of a brew that would have given lesser Marines a caffeine overdose. After Ernie collected the plates and refreshed their coffees, Decker eyed the sergeant.
“Josh Bayliss around today?” He asked in a gruff voice.
Carlo eyed him with suspicion.
“Who wants to know?”
“If you can do an old jumper a favor, Sergeant, tell him Rookie Trooper’s in town and would appreciate a minute of the sergeant major’s valuable time.”
“You were one of us?”
“Jumped with Josh when neither of us had a cred to our names. I’ll be hanging around the main square, taking in the sights.”
Decker stood, tossed money by his empty plate, and drained his mug.
“I’d be much obliged if you passed on the message, Sergeant.” He turned to Ernie and said, “Always a pleasure to scarf down your breakfast special.”
Once Decker had left, Carlo nodded towards the door.
“Do you believe this guy?”
Ernie shrugged.
“Sure. The breakfast special ain’t on the menu. Only Pathfinders know about it, and they’re the only ones that order it. Can’t hurt to tell Sarn’t Major Bayliss, if you want my opinion.”
*
A shadow blocked the midday sun, and Decker opened an eye without moving. He’d been taking his ease on one of the central plaza’s benches since leaving Ernie’s Café, waiting to see if Bayliss would take the bait. He had.
A resonant basso growled, “I thought the system put you away for life.”
“Goes to show that you should never trust the system. It’s been broken for so long no one remembers how the damn thing is supposed to work. How did you figure it was me?”
“Big mother of a hobo, enjoying the rays instead of a cold beer? Had to be Rookie Trooper. By the way, you managed to spook Carlo Yaskevitch. On his way back to the fort, he suddenly remembered who Rookie Trooper was. That gave him a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. He ran to my office as if the devil was tickling his balls. You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Chapter and verse, Josh, but not out here in public. I’m sure you can figure out why.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? I have a skimmer sitting around the corner, ready to take us home. A man comes back from permanent exile looking like his cousin twice removed, he has a story I want to hear. And since I know how you operate, I figure this isn’t a social call. You want something from me.”
Decker sprang to his feet.
“And yet you came anyway. There’s something to be said for sheer curiosity.”
Thirty-Nine
Bayliss pulled his skimmer off the road at a promontory overlooking the Fort Arnhem military reservation, high atop the crest that marked the Nestor Valley’s northern edge. Decker had started talking from the moment they left the plaza and hesitated at Josh’s unannou
nced change of plans.
“Keep going,” the sergeant major said, settling back in his seat after switching off the power plant. “I didn’t want a sudden explosion of rage to send us against the nearest rock face. What you’re telling me is not only so incredible it has to be true, but it’s also making my blood boil. How dare those commissioned fuckers do that to one of our own?”
“There’s worse to come, Josh, so simmer down. You getting a heart attack now won’t help me balance the scales. And try to remember that both Ariane and I held a commission — and will do so again once we sort out the bad guys.”
An unapologetic Bayliss waved at him to continue, so Zack did, this time reaching the end without further interruptions.
“Tell me what you need, Zack, and it’s yours. Some things can’t be excused.”
“Does that mean you believe this shit?”
“You’ve never, ever lied to me before. I don’t see why you’d start now. So what’s the plan?”
“We don’t actually have a plan yet,” Decker confessed, “because fumigating Fleet HQ to kill Black Sword cockroaches isn’t something Hera and I do every day of the week.”
“I’m sure two fine operatives such as yourselves have considered that there’s really only one way to eat this elephant-sized problem.”
“Yeah, that thought occurred to me on the way here — one bite at a time, starting with Colonel Allister Wynt. Squeeze the bastard dry, then grab the next one, squeeze him dry, or squeeze her dry as the case may be, and continue until we run out of leads or warm bodies.”
“Illegal as fuck, interrogating serving officers without a warrant signed by a military judge. And once you’re done, they’ll have to be terminated with extreme prejudice. Mind you, it’ll be well deserved, if they’re responsible for dozens, if not hundreds of ours, meaning covert ops, dying, or vanishing in recent years.”
“You’d be up for that?”
“If you felt any doubts about my joining this righteous crusade, we wouldn’t be talking, Zack. You and I understand each other. I’m sure QD and his troop would be more than happy to lay it on the line for Ariane. They feel personally responsible for what happened to her.”
“I had that impression when I spoke with them.”
“Then I think we should head for the fort, stash you somewhere quiet, such as my quarters, and pull a team of volunteers together. How long until Commander Talyn gets worried about you?”
“I told her four days. Josh, the volunteers, they need to understand that whatever we do will be so black, so unauthorized, so illegal that failure means life in prison, if not a death sentence for treason.”
Bayliss turned his head and smiled at him, teeth brilliantly white in his dark face.
“When has that ever stopped us from doing the right thing, Zack? We know there’s rot at the heart of the Fleet, the sort that needlessly costs lives. Burning it out with a terrible swift sword is every good trooper’s dream. Besides, from where I sit, we’ll be the ones carrying out the executions for treason.”
Then he chuckled, something that quickly turned into full out laughter.
“You wondered earlier whether I believed you about this shit. I do, except for one thing that still doesn’t quite compute. I really can’t believe you had Earle fucking Windom, the Pathfinder School’s biggest mistake, as your drill instructor. God has a mighty strange sense of humor, but I do like it.”
“Trust me; it wasn’t funny at the time.”
“And yet, funnily enough, you’re now one of only two Pathfinder officers who’ve earned the qualification ‘passed Marine Light Infantry training — convict course’ or whatever the heck it is. And in your case, doing that crap deliberately which, while not a sign of good mental health, shows you still have what it takes.”
*
“The way I see it,” QD Vinn said, digging in Sergeant Major Bayliss’ beer cooler, “we need a snatch team, a couple of civilian cars we can dump in the river without heartache, a safe house, and kick-ass interrogators.”
He held up a bulb of Caledonian stout and cocked an eyebrow at Zack. When the latter nodded, the bulb flew across the room in a lazy arc, landing in Decker’s hand with a soft slapping sound.
“Item one, snatch team,” Vinn continued, “is assembled.”
He gestured at the fifteen special operations troopers occupying Bayliss’ mismatched chairs, enjoying the sergeant major’s hospitality in his private, off-post quarters.
“Item four,” Decker said, “is covered as well. Between Commander Talyn and me, we can kick ass with the best of them. That leaves cars and the safe house.”
“I’ll take care of the cars,” Bayliss rumbled. “I know a guy who knows a guy. It’s borderline stuff, but since we’re heading into the deep black, who cares? His merchandise is the kind that can’t be traced, so even if someone finds the cars, it won’t do them a damn bit of good.”
Decker nodded.
“And the last item, a safe house, is something Commander Talyn can probably find. I’m sure intelligence has a string of them around Sanctum. Plausible deniability. We don’t put bad guys to the question on Fleet property. The safe houses might even come with everything we need to squeeze our targets dry.”
“Which leaves the question of timing. When do we start?” Vinn asked.
“As soon as possible. No one knows we’re back on Caledonia, but that won’t last. Eventually, a bright spark from the 14th will run an in-depth scan of the skimmer I blew up, if only to figure out how the terrorists did it. And once that happens, someone will notice that the absence of organic residue is so complete there couldn’t have been human tissue caught in the explosion.”
“They’ll figure the insurgents kidnapped you,” Bayliss said, shrugging. “Commander Talyn identified herself as an intelligence officer. As high-value targets go, she’ll be at the top of the list.”
“Take it a few steps further, Josh,” Decker said. “If that’s the operating theory, they’ll look for anything that might show the terrs hauling us off. Chances are good they’ll stumble across a sensor recording or eyewitness report of one big guy and two women walking out of the warehouse district. And then, the serious tracking starts. No cover ID is a hundred percent foolproof. And if counterintelligence, Fleet security, and my own bunch are compromised, well, you’re talking about folks with the best access to relevant data and plenty of computing power.”
Bayliss nodded.
“Understood. This comes under the heading of paranoids having real enemies too, so time remains of the essence.” He glanced at Vinn. “QD, how long will it take to get a last minute exercise authorized?”
Vinn took a sip of his beer and frowned.
“Two days tops. The squadron’s on the low end of the readiness cycle, so there’s nothing lined up for a few weeks. With a quarter of my troopers off on career courses rights now, the boss will be happy to let us out for adventure training.”
“And I have leave coming,” Bayliss replied. “I guess we can kick off the party in a day or two, Zack. You want to give this scheme a name? We can’t go around calling it Operation Snatch Black Sword Assholes.”
Decker grinned. “How does Operation White Sword sound?”
“Shee-it,” one Vinn’s sergeants laughed. “That’s the lamest damn thing I’ve ever heard, but it fits this crazy-assed madness, Major.”
Decker gave him a half smirk. “Glad you think so, Ben. Shame the op will never show up on your record.”
“That warm feeling of doing God’s work by terminating traitors will be more than enough,” another of the troopers said, to the approving chuckles of his friends.
“Immediate steps, Zack?” Bayliss asked.
“For me, return to Sanctum and lay out our plan, such as it is, for Hera and Ari to dissect. If they’re good with it, find a safe house and start surveillance on Colonel Wynt so we can figure out when and how to snatch him. The when is likely a Friday, on his way home from HQ. That’ll give us two days before h
e’s missed.”
“No family?”
Decker shook his head.
“Not according to Major Redmon. The man’s a career hound. If someone can drive me to Carrick in the morning, I’ll take the eleven o’clock train back.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Bayliss said. “How about we both drive to Sanctum together once I have untraceable civilian cars lined up and a few days off approved? That way I’ll be your liaison with QD, and you won’t leave traces on the public net.”
“Colonel Capurso will spring you just like that?”
“He’s been pushing me to take leave. Apparently, I spend too much time stalking the school grounds day and night, making everyone nervous.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t have a life, Sarn’t Major,” one of Vinn’s noncoms interjected.
Bayliss turned his scowl on the joker, triggering another wave of good-natured laughter.
“Don’t you worry about my life, son, and Zack, don’t you worry about the Colonel. I’ll just tell him an old friend popped up unexpectedly, which is nothing less than the absolute truth. You know I don’t like lying to the man any more than necessary. He’s one of the good guys.”
“I assume you’ll want us in civvies with nothing that’ll tie anyone back to the Fleet, right Zack?” Vinn asked.
“Yep, and if you can draw from the regiment’s sanitized weapons stock without attracting attention, that would be great. Asking Josh’s shady friend of a friend for two dozen unregistered guns might push our luck.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll make sure the training plan I give the boss includes a part about honing our undercover skills. It won’t be too far from the truth either.” Vinn grinned at Bayliss.
