Fortress Frontier (Shadow Ops 2)

by Cole, Myke

Bookbinder’s stomach turned over. ‘Where’s Anan?’

  Sharp bit his lip and was silent. When he finally spoke he said, ‘Sir, we’ve already taken care of him. If you could get the major to walk about twenty paces that way and put him under the ground, we’d be grateful.’

  Bookbinder swayed with the force of the realization. This is your fault, he told himself. There was no accusation in Sharp’s or Archer’s eyes, but he could feel it flowing from their pores. There had to be a way you could have avoided this. Maybe if you’d bought something from them? Made a show of your gun not working?

  Bookbinder found his hands twirling lamely at his sides. ‘I’m sorry,’ he rasped.

  Sharp shook his head. ‘He knew the job. We all did.’

  ‘I’ll get Woon,’ Bookbinder said. At least he could do that much.

  Sharp said nothing as he headed back to the camp, Archer silently in tow.

  By the time Woon returned from burying Anan, Bookbinder squatted on his haunches beside Archer, who sat in front of the goblin captives. To Bookbinder, they looked nearly identical, gnarled brown bodies, pointed ears and noses, long hands. The only real distinguishing markers were their clothing, a tight leather cape and trousers on one, sewn with metal discs. But the other wore a distinctive blue jumpsuit; its faded and threadbare surface couldn’t conceal the patch still sewn over the chest.

  Entertech.

  Archer said a few words in goblin, then leaned forward. ‘I know you speak some English,’ he said. ‘You worked on the FOB, didn’t you?’

  The goblin looked at him, sullenly silent, even as Woon raised the earthen yokes until they stood the goblins up. ‘What were you after?’ Archer asked. ‘You want our guns?’ He tapped the carbine slung across his chest, then asked something again in a burst of halting goblin.

  The creature barked an answer, pulling against the yoke that held it, then let out a cry of fear as Vasuki-Kai spread his arms behind Archer, his heads darting to and fro, hissing madly. Dhatri said, ‘His Highness has little patience for traitors. He says he would just as soon eat these creatures though he is certain they will taste badly.’

  Archer’s jaw muscles worked, suppressing a smile. He looked back at the goblin. ‘You hear that? That’s a foreign partner. I can hardly refuse him, can I? Bad for diplomatic relations.’

  ‘Let . . . go . . .’ the goblin in the jumpsuit said.

  Bookbinder opened his mouth to say something, but Archer silenced him with a gesture. ‘He’s got it, sir,’ Sharp whispered to him.

  ‘Let go. We help,’ the creature said again.

  ‘How will you help?’ Archer asked, kneeling, till he was eye to eye with the goblin.

  ‘Where go?’ the goblin asked, his voice wheedling as Vasuki-Kai loomed larger over Archer’s shoulder.

  ‘You saw which way we’re going,’ Archer said, pointing.

  ‘Yes . . . I see . . .’ He paused, searching for the right words. ‘What for go?’

  Archer shook his head. ‘Nice try.’

  The goblin shook his head as well, pulling against the earthen yoke again. ‘No there,’ he said, his voice genuinely afraid. ‘There bad. Trouble. No, no.’ Beside him, the other goblin began to nod frantically, repeating the one word in English he apparently knew. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Archer said. ‘Why is it bad? What’s bad?’

  The goblin in the Entertech jumpsuit struggled for a moment before spitting out several words in goblin that Archer didn’t understand. ‘Man,’ the goblin finally ventured in English. ‘Bad man.’

  Bookbinder could hold himself back no longer. ‘What do you mean, “man”?’ he asked. ‘You mean a human? Like me?’ He jerked his thumb at his chest.

  But the goblin only continued its fear-maddened prattling, shaking its head violently. ‘Bad man. No go.’

  Bookbinder conferred with Sharp and Archer out of the goblins’ earshot while Vasuki-Kai slithered back and forth before them, keeping them trembling.

  ‘What do you think?’ Bookbinder asked.

  ‘You were right, sir,’ Archer said. ‘You were right about them. They’re scavengers after human gear. They were probably hoping to take us unawares and pillage our stuff.’

  ‘No, I mean about the man. Do you think there’s another human out here?’

  Sharp shrugged. ‘I don’t see how it’s possible for anyone to survive out here.’

  Bookbinder was silent. ‘If there’s even a chance, we need to take a look.’

  Sharp shrugged again. ‘If what the goblins were saying is true, it’s right on our way, sir.’

  ‘Do you think we could handle having them along, just for a short while?’ Bookbinder asked.

  ‘We could swing it, sir. They seem pretty damned scared of the naga.’ He chuckled. ‘Ought to help keep ’em behaved.’

  Archer smiled. ‘They don’t look big enough to eat much anyway.’

  Bookbinder nodded. ‘Okay.’ He led the operators back over to the prisoners and motioned to Woon to release them. ‘We’re going to let you go for a bit,’ he said. ‘But if you do anything bad’ – he pointed at the naga prince – ‘His Highness is going to eat you. Got it?’

  He motioned to Woon and turned to Sharp. ‘You got a couple of extra pairs of zip cuffs in your . . .’

  ‘Shit!’ Woon shouted.

  Bookbinder spun. As soon as she released them from the earthen yokes, the goblins raced for Archer’s grounded pack. The goblin in the blue jumpsuit dove on it and yanked one of the grenades from the shoulder strap. It spun, shouted triumphantly and pulled the pin.

  Sharp crouched, his hand a blur as it dropped to his thigh, yanking the pistol from its drop holster. It drove forward, the motion clean and fluid, slack coming out of the trigger even as he extended his hand. In less than three seconds, he’d fired twice. The first round punched through the throat of the goblin in the leather cape. The second holed the goblin in the jumpsuit directly between the eyes. The creature sighed and collapsed, the armed grenade spinning in the air above it.

  ‘Down!’ Sharp shouted, diving on Bookbinder, knocking him onto the ground with enough force that his head bounced, teeth clicking and stars exploding behind his eyes.

  ‘Is everyone o—’ Bookbinder began to say but was cut off by a deafening boom. He felt a wall of heat slap his buttocks and legs, pushing him forward a few feet, his face digging a furrow in the earth. He lay silent, doubled over, his ears ringing as earth and rock rained down on him. After a moment, he felt Sharp’s weight lift, heard the sergeant calling to him as if down a long tunnel. Bookbinder stood, dusting himself, checking himself for injuries. He turned to the team, shouting, ‘Is everyone okay?’ At least he thought he shouted that, he could barely hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears.

  At last he visually accounted for them all. Each of them stood, nodding, uninjured. Bookbinder looked toward the remains for Archer’s rucksack, now little more than a smoking hole in the ground. Tiny shreds of meat were the only indicator that goblins had ever stood over it.

  Bookbinder put a pinky in his ear and wiggled it. The ringing had begun to fade, replaced by a headache that threatened to overwhelm him.

  He looked over at Archer, who cursed. ‘Can’t believe those little fuckers could be so stupid.’

  ‘Or so fast,’ Sharp added.

  Bookbinder tried to shrug nonchalantly and found it hurt too much. ‘We’re all okay, that’s what matters. What did we lose in your pack?’

  Archer’s voice was bitter. ‘Some MREs, ammo, my medical supplies.’

  The only ones they had left. Bookbinder tried to look unconcerned. ‘Is that all?’ he asked archly.

  There was nothing arch about Archer’s reply. ‘No sir, that’s not all. The comms system was in there, and my “boomer”.’

  Bookbinder grunted. ‘Boomers were running out of magical charge anyway. We’ve got regular decontamination tablets for backup. and we don’t need comms now.’ Inwardly, he screamed at himself. There had to
be a way he could have avoided that. A piece of him consoled himself. Sometimes you get in impossible situations. There’s nothing you can do. But that wouldn’t cut it if they were to reach the Indian FOB. He couldn’t afford mistakes. He looked back at Archer as the operator set about inventorying his remaining gear. The man was stoic, but did Bookbinder catch a disapproving glance? Fillion’s open mouth, the ash pouring forth, flashed in his mind, followed by Anan’s back disappearing into the dark grass from which he’d never emerge. I should have stopped him, Bookbinder thought. I should have ordered Sharp to kill them when we first saw their cart so they couldn’t report back to their village. He shook his head, trying to clear the images, but they stuck with him. His mind reeled, replaying each scene over in his head, wondering what he could have done differently.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bad Man

  Why do you think the Geneva Convention was so quick to add an amendment outlawing Whispering? Any fool can see the range of military applications. It can only be because governments saw that the rights issue would cause a headache on a scale that would dwarf any benefit. What would we do when dolphins could finally tell us all that they didn’t enjoy performing tricks for thrown fish? Or monkeys revealed that they’d rather live alongside us in luxury condominiums? What would we do when cows marched on Washington, demanding the right to keep milk for their own young?

  – Arnold Dishart, Vice President

  People for the Moral Treatment of Animals (PMTA)

  The terrain dampened as they proceeded. Before long, they were trudging through a half-frozen bog, the tall grass giving way to rushes and puffed-up reeds that stretched over even Vasuki-Kai’s height. Pools of stagnant water surrounded them, squelching beneath their boots. They paused, using their failing boomers to clean the water and refill their supply. The last of these finally gave out, the enchantment spent, so they switched to the decontamination tablets to finish the job.

  The ground then began to rise slightly, a low line of rocky hills appearing in the distance. Bookbinder made for them, grateful to have a landmark to fix his sights on. The ground dried as the hills drew closer, the bog giving way to a stony plain.

  Bookbinder angled along the line, making for a break in the rocky surface where the crossing looked easy. He had become used to the team naturally gravitating to his course. Even Anan, usually on point, seemed to feel his changes of direction and moved with him. This time, Bookbinder found himself walking alone. He was your trooper, and you couldn’t save him.

  He stopped, looking back over his shoulder to where Sharp was peering through his carbine scope at a point on the hillside farther down the line. ‘What?’ he asked.

  Sharp handed him the carbine. ‘Take a look, sir,’ he said, pointing. ‘A little more to the right . . . a little more . . . there.’

  Bookbinder stopped moving the rifle barrel and peered through the scope. The targeting reticle’s red dot hovered over what looked like a cave mouth. ‘So? It’s a cave.’

  Sharp reached over Bookbinder’s head and adjusted something on the scope. ‘Maybe that’s better. Look again.’

  Bookbinder looked back through the scope and didn’t see anything different. He was just about to lower the carbine when something caught his eye. At the cave entrance were a couple of regular flat surfaces. ‘Are those . . . rugs?’

  ‘Looked like it to me, sir,’ Sharp answered. ‘Now look a little to the left and right of the entrance. Those aren’t natural growths.’

  Bookbinder did as Sharp said. The sergeant was right. What he had assumed to be trees were sharpened stakes, planted in the hard soil. Two of them sported skulls, eyeless, with single teeth protruding from the snouts. A couple of the stakes appeared to have been topped in some kind of clustered blossoms.

  Bookbinder swallowed hard. Not blossoms. Goblin heads, impaled through their necks. ‘Jesus,’ he said, lowering the weapon. ‘Whoever that is doesn’t like goblins very much. Should we check it out?’

  Sharp gave his characteristic shrug. ‘It’s not the mission, sir. But I thought you should see it. Might be that bad man our prisoners were going on about.’

  ‘You’re my senior NCO. Advise me.’

  Sharp smiled. ‘Your call, sir. I’m pretty sure we can do for anything out here. Even if it beats up on goblins.’

  Bookbinder paused. You’ve already lost Fillion and Anan. You want to risk the rest of your team? He turned away from the cave, then stopped. But what if it really is a human in there? Can you just walk away from that?

  Bookbinder decided he couldn’t. ‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘Take a look. Just you and Archer. Be careful.’

  Sharp nodded. ‘We will, sir.’

  Dhatri and Woon knelt and covered the cave entrance. Vasuki-Kai stood imperiously, watching behind them. Bookbinder milled about, feeling useless. Sharp and Archer picked their way up the hillside, sighting down their weapons, steady and silent. When they reached the cave mouth, they braced alongside the entrance, shoulders against the rock. Sharp took a chemlight from his pack, broke and shook it, then threw it inside. They paused, listening. Finally he took out a long mirror and peered into the cave entrance. He returned it to his pack, braced himself, and rolled inside, Archer following.

  The darkness swallowed them.

  Minutes passed. Bookbinder held his breath. Regret pulsed in his gut and scalp. Bad call. You have just gotten two more of your people killed.

  He was just about to race up the hill after them when Sharp emerged at the cave’s entrance and gave a thumbs-up sign. ‘It’s clear,’ he called.

  Relief swamped Bookbinder with such force that his knees went weak. When he finally mastered himself, he nodded and began to make his way up the hill.

  A thump sounded behind them and Vasuki-Kai sent up a hiss that bordered on a roar. Sharp dropped to one knee, pointing his weapon at something behind Bookbinder. Archer followed a moment later. Bookbinder spun.

  A man stood behind them. His brown skin was scratched and weathered to the point of old shoe leather, stretched over lean muscle. His hair and beard had grown into short gray dreadlocks. He was dressed in ragged furs, hand-stitched leather. One arm was draped across Dhatri’s chest. The other held a short sword across his throat.

  His eyes were bright and intelligent. Calm eyes, killer’s eyes. Like Sharp’s.

  Vasuki-Kai had drawn his weapons, hissing murder, but not daring to approach.

  ‘This your boyfriend?’ the black man asked the naga. ‘Put those meat choppers away, or I’ll cut his fucking head off.’

  Sharp and Archer began to advance down the hill. ‘Drop your weapon!’ Sharp commanded. ‘Do it right now! Asshole! Do you want to get shot?’

  Bookbinder raised his shotgun, remembering to thumb the safety off this time. ‘Sir!’ he said. ‘Sir, it’s okay. I’m Colonel Alan Bookbinder, United States Army. We’re the good guys. You don’t have to do this.’

  The man relaxed a bit, but jerked his chin at the naga. ‘What the hell is that?’

  The motion tugged at Bookbinder’s mind. He could swear he’d seen this man somewhere before. But where? From his accent, the man was definitely American and likely from New England somewhere.

  ‘That’s . . .’ Bookbinder said. ‘That’s complicated. What’s important is that we’re not going to hurt you. That’s our friend you’ve got there. Just let him go, and we can talk like civilized people.’

  The man hesitated. Bookbinder swept his arm across the rest of his team, motioning for Sharp and Archer to lower their weapons. ‘This is Sergeant First Class Sharp and Specialist Archer, also Army. This is Major Woon, from the Air Force. The guy you’ve got there is Subedar Major Dhatri from the Armed Forces of India. This is Vasuki-Kai. Not his boyfriend, precisely, but close enough that he’s not going to get over it if you don’t let him go right now.’

  The man hesitated another moment, then slowly lowered the sword. Dhatri scrambled away from him, snatching up his carbine. Vasuki-Kai instantly sheathed his weap
ons and gathered the subedar major into the coils of his tail, checking him for injuries, a canopy of snake’s heads darting their tongues at him, hissing with concern. Bookbinder breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’

  The man nodded. ‘Stanley Britton. Colonel, United States Marine Corps, retired.’

  The familiarity hit home with a bang. Bookbinder gasped. ‘My god. You’re Oscar Britton’s father.’

  Stanley Britton’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know Oscar?’

  Bookbinder nodded. ‘I do. We thought you were dead. How the hell have you survived out here?’

  Stanley jerked his chin again, this time at Sharp and Archer. ‘I was Force Recon in my fighting days. You learn a thing or two about how to keep on keeping on. This place hasn’t thrown anything at me that I couldn’t handle. Mostly those little monsters out here, but they scare easy.’ He nodded toward the stakes outside his cave and Bookbinder realized he was talking about goblins.

  Bookbinder motioned to Archer. ‘He’s a medic. Mind if he checks you out?’

  Stanley shrugged. ‘Not necessary. I’m fine.’

  Bookbinder paused, trying to decide whether or not to force the issue. The man had staked the heads of goblins outside his cave. Maybe his injuries weren’t physical. Stanley spoke before he could. ‘I didn’t expect to see . . . my own kind out here. How did you get here? I thought I was alone.’ The relief in his voice helped Bookbinder breathe easier. Whatever trauma this man had suffered, and what it had caused him to do to goblins, he still had attachments to his own kind.

  ‘We’ve got a . . . presence out here,’ Bookbinder said.

  ‘If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have holed up in this dump.’ Stanley gestured to the cave.

  ‘It’s a good thing you did,’ Bookbinder said. ‘We’re in the middle of hostile territory, you’d have had one hell of a fight to reach us.’

  ‘I can handle it.’ Stanley’s look was frank.

  ‘I bet you could.’

  ‘My son is there? At your base?’ Stanley asked, his expression hopeful.

  ‘He was,’ Bookbinder said. ‘He’s gone now.’