Clawing Back from Chaos: Book 9 in the Cat Among Dragons Series (A Cat Among Dragons)

by Alma Boykin

  There were no other major administrative matters for the staff to sort through or discuss, so McKendrick relaxed as he broke the next bits of news. “On a completely unrelated topic, the warrants for Col. Przilas’ arrest have expired, so he will be returning to North America, likely followed by a staff assignment.” It took the others a moment to realize that their commanding officer was joking. When they did, quiet laughter flowed around the table, and the American executive officer grinned.

  “And if that is not enough to cause an eruption of total chaos, I’m leaving in two months to return to the real world and take command of the Black Watch,” the Scotsman continued, smiling and acknowledging the congratulations. “Colonel Rahoul Khan will be returning to take over here and to receive a promotion to brigadier general. He will act as executive officer until I leave to enjoy a few moments of tranquility before my next assignment.” So much for a quiet posting after his unexpected time with the GDF, McKendrick had sighed when he read the letter.

  “Sir, wasn’t he the senior surviving officer back three years ago?” O’Neil inquired.

  The redhead nodded. “Affirmative. No offense intended Przilas, but I had wanted him to stay on afterwards. But Vienna, in their infinite wisdom, decreed otherwise, and so he went on a staff rotation at headquarters. They liked him so much that they wanted to keep him an extra year, but he’s being released on time served.” McKendrick chuckled at the officers’ response to two jokes in one meeting. “Khan will arrive on Friday, with his family following later, so that we can have as smooth a transition as possible.” With that, the meeting concluded.

  Rahoul Khan took a deep breath of the warm spring air and smiled at the faint scent of roses. It had been almost two-and-a-half years since he, Panpit, and their children had moved to Austria, and while there was much to like about Vienna, he preferred England. Not much seemed to have changed around the GDF’s British headquarters, he thought as he stepped out of the car. Then he remembered what waited for him, and his smile faded abruptly.

  He’d first met Commander “Rachel Na Gael” when Jonathon Eastman had been in command, shortly after she’d been hired. Rahoul had volunteered for a tour with the GDF after graduating from Sandhurst, and had ended up making the Defense Force a career. Rachel had mentored him in her own way, and he’d come to admire her, as well as learning a lot from her over the years. He’d returned to the GDF as executive officer, first under Brigadier Andrew Whitehead, and then the ill-fated Evelyn Jones. Now he and Rachel had come full circle, and Rahoul wondered what had happened to her to break her so completely.

  As it turned out, almost nothing had changed as far as the Headquarters building was concerned, so Rahoul opted to skip a tour and report directly to Major General McKendrick. The heavy-set Scotsman smiled broadly and extended a strong, beefy hand. “Welcome home, I dare say,” he offered a few minutes later, after the requisite formalities.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back in England,” Khan replied, taking the offered seat.

  They discussed basics, and Rahoul caught McKendrick up on the changes in Vienna. “There’s been something in the water, sir. General von Hohen-Drachenburg retired in January, now the shuffle here, the creation of a Central African Branch, and to top it all off, the Secretary will be leaving in August!”

  “At least we’re spared early elections here,” McKendrick grunted.

  “There’s that, sir,” his successor agreed.

  The redhead sat back and smiled a little. “Well, GDF shuffles mean nothing to me after June first. I’m glad I’ve had this assignment, Khan, but it will be good to get back to the regular Army and regular Army problems to deal with.”

  The South-Asian officer smiled, teeth white against his medium-brown skin. “It’s funny, sir. When I was with the Irish Guards in Iraq and Afghanistan, I kept thinking how confusing and frustrating it was to deal with human opponents. I’d managed to get used to extraterrestrial enemies.”

  “I’m glad some people can.” McKendrick frowned, “Speaking of extraterrestrials, have you looked in on Commander Na Gael?”

  “No, sir. As much as I would like to, there are other priorities,” Khan said.

  James stood. “There are but we do have a few minutes to spare.” He looked at the wall clock and took off his glasses to clean the lenses. “She’s in her quarters. Go see her, Col. Khan. Maybe she’ll respond to you. And be back by 1430, so you can meet the rest of the staff.”

  “Yes, sir.” Khan saw himself out and walked quickly and silently down the hall to the lab. He paused automatically to check the door light, then shook his head. The light was off —it could hardly be otherwise with Rachel out of action. He noted a few changes to the lab, then climbed the metal spiral stairs to his friend’s quarters, tapped on the door, opened it, and made his way between the bookcases. Rahoul stopped long enough to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, then turned left to find Rachel’s sleeping area.

  Sergeant St. John was taking a turn watching Rachel, and she smiled a little when she recognized the visitor. “Welcome back, sir,” she offered after rising to her feet.

  “Thank you, Colour Sergeant. Sit, please. How is she?” Badly off, that much he could tell at a glance. Rachel’s eyes were both closed, but she wasn’t asleep. Instead she murmured and whispered in a strange language. All Rahoul could see easily in the dim light was his friend’s dark hair, because her colorless face matched the white sheets that lined her wood and wicker bed-nest. He’d given her grief about her strange sleeping arrangements, Khan recalled, but Rachel had pointed out that it was none of his business if she wanted to be warm and cozy in winter. Now she lay motionless, all extra flesh gone from her face and from the one hand that rested on top of the duvet.

  “I’m afraid Captain ben David was right, sir,” the mousy-looking Welshwoman told him, pale eyes sad. “Her body is dying, now that her mind is trapped away.”

  Her words caught Rahoul’s attention. “What do you mean, ‘trapped away?’”

  St. John thought hard. “Well, sir, even though it’s after the equinox, I tried reaching her through this.” She held up a piece of carved, smoothed wood. “All I found were the corpses and the ghosts of all sorts of creatures and people. They’ve surrounded Commander Na Gael and keep screaming and cursing at her. That’s what she’s seeing in her mind, and I was afraid to try to wiggle through to her, in case there’s nothing left behind the wall she’s built to keep the monsters inside.”

  Oddly, her words made some sense to Rahoul, given what he’d seen of Rachel before, as well as her well-known concern for her fellow soldiers. “Thank you, Sergeant. I think your effort might be a clue toward what’s happened to her. Good work.” He smiled.

  As he spoke, Morgan pointed, and Khan glanced over to see that Rachel’s good eye had opened and she’d turned toward them, her face a study in guilt and anguish. Then she shuddered, and the eye closed again. “Nothing but shadows,” a faint voice whispered harshly in Trader. “Only darkness left.”

  Rahoul waited a few more minutes, but Rachel didn’t move again, so he excused himself. He arrived at the appointed conference room a little early, in time to meet a small man with black hair and olive skin. “Col. Khan?” he introduced himself. “I’m Major Tomasso Albioni, the medical officer.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Albioni,” Rahoul smiled, offering a hand.

  “General McKendrick mentioned that you know my current patient?” the Italian ventured as they shook.

  “Yes. I was just looking in on her. You are aware that she’s hallucinating?” Khan inquired, leading the way into the briefing room.

  “I suspected, but you’re certain?”

  Khan nodded. “Sgt. St. John tried reaching her and got a glimpse of what Rachel is seeing. She said it was ‘corpses and ghosts’.”

  Albioni considered the colonel’s news. “I wonder if that is why she kept asking me to let her die because ‘the shadows have won’, and that ‘it would be better’ for us to ‘l
et her go’.” The Italian sighed. “I wish I could sedate her and let her rest, but she’s hypersensitive to narcotics and other depressants—she’d die.” Khan filed the information away for future reference and echoed Albioni’s sigh.

  The arrival of the other staff officers ended the conversation, but both men had a lot to consider that afternoon. Khan met and listened to Major de Alba, Captain ben David, Major O’Neil, Col. Przilas, and Regimental Sergeant Major Sheldon Smith, the senior NCO. As it turned out, a series of shuffles in the North American branch meant that Przilas would be leaving in two days, not the two weeks he’d anticipated, so he and Rahoul spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening comparing notes and getting things squared away. Despite his concerns, Rahoul fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow that night.

  Meanwhile, somewhere in the darkness Rachel shivered and cried silently. Her victims clawed at the walls she’d built around them, trying to get out and hurt others. She tried to warn the people watching her to flee, to get away in case she lost control, but the humans wouldn’t leave her alone. Rachel needed to die, she wanted to die, had to die so that the ghosts would be content and find their own peace. Their hissing and cries tormented the Wanderer, and she begged for forgiveness and mercy. But she’d shown none and so she received none. “Let me go,” she pleaded weakly. “You’ve won, let me die!” Please may I die, oh why didn’t I die? She heard no answer beside the jeers and screams of the dead.

  The next morning, Rahoul got up early and joined the other morning people working out in the recently expanded gym. He recognized First Sergeant Anthony Lee and a few others, but everyone was exercising, lifting weights, and otherwise in motion, so he didn’t do anything besides nod. After a brisk shower, Khan grabbed a seat in the officers’ mess and tucked away soft-boiled eggs, tomatoes, and toast. “No sausage or bacon?” he asked O’Neil.

  “No sir, not on Fridays in Lent,” the nondescript Englishman reminded him. “Have some kippers,” he offered, reaching for the plate.

  Khan speared one of the smoked fish and regarded it soberly, hearing Rachel’s voice in memory, complaining about kippers. He ate, then excused himself. The following week would be Holy Week, he remembered, and Passover as well. Khan was at loose ends for the next hour, so he decided to check his e-mail. There was a message from Panpit that included pictures of the chaos that was their flat as she tried to pack around Robin and Sita. “I hope you’re enjoying your holiday,” he read aloud and chuckled. A second message, this one from General Joschka von Hohen-Drachenburg, asked about Rachel, and provided the Graf-General’s very private phone number. Once again, Rahoul wondered about the relationship between the Austrian and the alien. He wished that Joschka wasn’t tied up in a legal matter so he could come to England to see Rachel for himself. Khan grimaced at the mess, reviewed a few more notes, and sent the Graf-General an update before logging off.

  Early that afternoon, an orderly found Rahoul helping Tadeus Przilas sort through materials in the latter’s overly-full office. “Sirs? General McKendrick wants you in the staff briefing room right now.”

  “Mission?” Tadeus inquired as they rushed down the hall.

  “No idea, sir,” the corporal said, holding the door for them, then leaving.

  General McKendrick, Dr. Albioni, Moshe ben David, and Edward O’Neil were already in the room, and McKendrick looked like thunder. “We may have sorted out what caused Commander Na Gael’s collapse,” he informed the new arrivals. “Shut the door and lock it.” Startled, Przilas did as ordered, then stood beside the adjutant.

  “It seems Sgt. St. John’s discovery jogged some memories,” the general said, glaring over his glasses at ben David and O’Neil. “Tell all of us what you told me, Captain.”

  The Israeli took a deep breath, as if gathering his nerve. “Rachel began hiding on March 22, but her collapse really started before our last mission, sirs. I think she overheard Major O’Neil and me talking about a simulation that we ran without her. It was a partial replication of the September Disaster,” he said, looking at everyone but O’Neil. “We were discussing how hard it had been and how close it was to the actual events, and the Major asked what had become of expendability.”

  Jaws dropped and O’Neil locked his eyes on the far wall, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “And what else did you say, Major O’Neil?” McKendrick demanded, furious at the man.

  “I joked and said that she should have been left. That way there wouldn’t have been any other casualties and the GDF would have used less in the way of resources, since the invaders didn’t want information from her,” O’Neil said. “I was just kidding, sir; just trying to get a rise out of Moshe!”

  David disagreed. “No, sir, that’s not what I understood. You were quite serious. And I think that the Commander overheard what we said—part of it, at a minimum.”

  “God damn it,” Col. Khan swore under his breath as McKendrick fumed.

  The general growled, “Major O’Neil, is there anything else you said to Ra—to Commander Na Gael—that might have upset her?”

  The brown-haired Englishman shook his head. “No sir.”

  Keith Przilas’s eyes narrowed. “What about the comment that drove her from the supper table, Major?”

  At McKendrick’s raised eyebrows, the Englishman shrugged, “It was just another joke, about a month ago at supper. We were talking about giving up things for Lent, and I suggested that she stop killing people for a while. But everyone knew I was just winding her up, like we all do.”

  A cold chill ran down Rahoul’s back. Oh Lord. That started it. No wonder St. John said Rachel saw dead bodies and ghosts, especially after what she had to do in Germany last year. Khan wanted to strangle the man. He glanced to McKendrick, who nodded permission to speak. “Well, Major O’Neil, between your ‘jokes’,” Rahoul glared, “and her own sense of guilt, we may just have lost Rachel completely. Congratulations, Major. You’ve accomplished what even the Tarqi da Kavalle failed to do. You’ve driven her insane.”

  “Or, more precisely,” Dr. Albioni snapped, anger clipping his words short, “into a depression so deep that even pharmaceuticals won’t help—assuming we knew what to give her. Commander Na Gael is catatonic—locked in her own mind. She doesn’t respond to stimuli, won’t or can’t move, and will probably die unless I put in a feeding tube.”

  O’Neil bristled. “With all due respect sir, Doctor, it’s not my fault! If the stories are true, a few jokes about killing people shouldn’t have bothered Rachel, since she’s done it so often. And you said that she already had mental problems. Sir,” he nodded towards Col. Khan, “so how can a few jokes have anything to do with her going ‘round the bend if she was at least half-crazy to start with?” The Englishman looked at the others for support and found only anger and contempt.

  McKendrick stood up and the men shifted out of his path as he approached Major O’Neil. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed. Not you, Major.” Khan, ben David, Przilas, and Albioni wasted no time clearing the room. As the door shut they heard, “All right, Major. Just what did you think you were doing?” The reply was inaudible, but McKendrick’s response was clear, even through the heavy wood. “It was not funny! No funnier than asking Dr. Albioni how many patients he’s killed. I know you don’t care for Rachel, but this was beyond the pale! Let me be clear just what your cruelty has done.”

  “Perhaps we should move to the lounge?” ben David inquired sotto voce.

  Albioni nodded, and the four men eased out of earshot of the furious general’s speech.

  “Is there anything that can be done for Rachel?” Przilas asked.

  The medical officer shrugged. “I hope so, but I doubt it.” He took off his glasses and waved them for emphasis, perching on the sofa arm. “I’m not a mind specialist, but it seems as if she thinks she should die for what she’s done. But since she apparently won’t or can’t kill herself outright, the tension has broken her mental defenses apart and her ‘ghosts and shadows’ have over
whelmed her.”

  Moshe studied the carpet. “When I heard her in the hall, I should have stopped her and made the Major apologize.”

  “We can ‘could have, should have’ all day,” Przilas snapped. “The question is: what do we do to get her back?”

  Albioni gave the executive officer a questioning look. “I’m not certain we can, sir. And given what she seems to be going through inside her head, it might be kinder to let her waste away. At least her suffering will end.”

  Rahoul Khan had been thinking hard. “Actually, I may have a way, Tadeus. When McKendrick told General Eszterházy about her collapse, it reminded me of what the Graf-General did that pulled her back after the September Disaster. Apparently Rachel is conditioned to respond to a specific verbal cue, no matter what else is going on or how lost she is in her own thoughts. Drachenburg told me what it is and I’d like to try it.” He turned to the medical officer. “With your permission, Dr. Albioni.”

  “It can’t hurt, Colonel Khan. But keep in mind that Commander Na Gael’s body is already failing. Even if you can bring her mind back, there might not be enough left of her physically to keep her alive. And she still may be so wrapped in her ‘shadows’ that she’ll remain non-functional.” It was obvious that Albioni didn’t like offering such a bleak prognosis but wanted to give Rahoul and the others fair warning.

  “I’m willing to chance it, Doctor,” Khan said, walking towards the door. I can’t stand by and watch my friend damn herself.

  After he left, ben David paced back and forth a little. “Do you think Col. Khan will have any luck?” he asked the air.

  “From what I’ve heard, he’s one of very few people who might have a prayer of reaching her,” Przilas answered. “But that’s just rumor and guessing.”

  The Israeli captain stopped pacing. “In case he can’t, I’ll go pull her file, sir, so we can contact who ever needs to know.” At Przilas’ nod, Moshe excused himself. Actually, it was to give him something to do, the Israeli sighed quietly. He already knew what he’d find, because he’d checked her personal disposition papers immediately after she collapsed. That’s sad, he’d thought, looking at the blank spaces. Rachel had no friends or next of kin—no one who needed to be informed if she died, no one to sit shivah for her, no one to pray for her soul’s rest. All the form said was to cremate her remains, if there were any, and to “dump the ashes somewhere out of the way and give the Survivors’ Fund any money raised by selling my personal items. There’s a list in my quarters—first drawer in the kitchen.” Well, I’ll pray for her, even if she is a goya, ben David decided.