Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.)

by Myke Cole

  Bookbinder shook his head. “I’ll admit that part went well. But it was one speech, Rick. I’ll even give myself the credit you’re extending to me. But the fact remains that even a natural talent still has to learn his trade. That’s what’s missing here. I don’t have the track record. I don’t know the right people. You, at least, ran the SAOLCC. Christ, look at the whole thing with the protocol officer! I had no clue whom to go to. If you hadn’t known about Constance and her propensity for preening over labor, we would have been well and truly screwed.”

  He leaned over the desk and softened his voice. “You believe in me. I get it. But there isn’t enough time for me to learn as I go here. This has to be done right the first time.”

  “And somehow you’ll have the time to learn as you go leading a scout/ recon mission?”

  “It’s more than that. It’s an envoy to a foreign government’s FOB, one that we’re not supposed to know about.” He tapped the eagle sewn on his uniform, signifying his colonel’s rank.

  “The full bird will help some there.”

  “Christ, Alan. You’re a Latent Grenade. What if you go off out there?”

  Bookbinder paused. “Yes, well. About that.”

  “What?”

  “I already went off.”

  Crucible’s mouth fell open. He stood for a long moment before he closed it. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  “But, nobody even noticed! I mean, you never Manifested! What school are you?”

  “No school. At least, none I’ve ever heard of. Jesus, sit down.”

  Bookbinder gestured at the chair in the corner of the office.

  Crucible kicked it. “Hell, no. What are you talking about?”

  “Okay, don’t freak out. All right?”

  Crucible only stared.

  “I may have to abort this, I don’t have a lot of practice.”

  Bookbinder Drew his current, reached out for the foreign flow of Crucible’s magic and Bound it. He began to draw it into himself.

  Crucible’s eyes shot wide. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” Bookbinder said through gritted teeth. “It’s some kind of parasitic thing. I’m a magic thief.” He began to feel his veins flush with Crucible’s magic, beginning to overwhelm his senses. The current was caustic, hot. Bookbinder glanced around his office, trying to look for a place to shunt the magic off to. There was no convenient chunk of blast barricade to use as a focus. He tamped down on the current, rolling his own magic back. For a moment, he worried that he would be unable, and would have to beg Crucible to Suppress him, but then he felt his magic obey him, releasing Crucible’s current to flow back into him. A sheen of sweat broke out on Bookbinder’s forehead as he slumped in his chair. “Damn it. I forgot that you’re a Pyromancer. I don’t want to set anything in this office on fire.”

  “Holy crap, Alan. I felt you . . . yanking my magic out of me.”

  “I know. I pull it into myself. It’s like I have magic for two people inside me. I can only hold it for a short time, then I have to project it out into something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like anything, I guess. I’ve only done it once before during a goblin attack. I pulled one of their sorcerer’s Pyromancy and Bound it to a chunk of concrete. The thing was on fire. We’re talking concrete. Burning.”

  Crucible changed his mind and sat down. “Holy cow.”

  “I know.”

  “So not only are you . . . some kind of magic vampire, but you can create . . . magic stuff?”

  Bookbinder shrugged. “That’s what it looks like. I haven’t had a lot of time to practice.”

  “Holy cow,” Crucible said again.

  “I know,” Bookbinder said again.

  “Sir, I’ve been with this program since its inception. I’ve never even heard of something like that.”

  “Well, we haven’t been out in the Source long, maybe that’s got something to do with it?”

  “This has to be studied. Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “I only found out once we’d already been cut off, and the attacks had started stepping up. You’ll forgive me if the timing didn’t seem exactly auspicious.”

  “But, if you don’t know how to use it . . .”

  Bookbinder raised a hand. “I’ve thought that over. If anything, I see it as an advantage. At a minimum, this power is stable. At best, it’s the most diverse form of magic out there. If I can master it, it’ll bring us every advantage once we’re out there trying to reach the Indian FOB.”

  “Are you sure you know that’s what this is? You can drain other people’s magic and Bind it to inanimate objects? Maybe the stress of combat confused you.”

  Bookbinder pounded the desk, then uncurled his fist, extending a finger toward Crucible. “Damn it, Rick. Don’t patronize me! I know what I’m talking about here. I’m a smart guy, and I’m handling things, so don’t treat me like a fucking invalid.”

  Crucible patted the air. “You’re right, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Bookbinder said, willing the color out of his face.

  “How the hell do you plan to master it?” Crucible finally broke the silence. “I mean, even in SAOLCC we couldn’t . . .”

  “You couldn’t help me in SAOLCC anyway. This is new. You don’t know any more about it than I do. I’ll either figure it out on my own, or I won’t. I’ll make sure I have someone along who can Suppress, just in case.”

  “You’ve already decided on a team?”

  Bookbinder nodded. “More or less. I’ve been thinking about it. This base needs all hands on deck to weather the coming storm until either we find help or the government finds a way to reach us. I’m going to take as little as I can. I’m assuming a base like this doesn’t have in–flight refueling capability?”

  Crucible shook his head. “I’ll double-check with the air boss, but I highly doubt it. That’s a big air force thing. We never needed it out here. There’s some fixed-wing capability on the flight line, but it’s single-seater combat stuff. It’s primarily a helo flight.”

  “I thought so. So, air-dropping us is not a real option. And I’m not sparing a helo, even a Little Bird, just to have it go bingo-fuel halfway to our destination, then ground it for the enemy to rip apart. Air cover is the one of the bigger advantages we have over the Defender clans. The rocs and wyverns they throw at us don’t really hold up. I need every swinging dick in the air, so to speak.”

  Crucible nodded. “Concur. Dhatri said their FOB doesn’t have a runway, so there’s no place for a fixed-wing to land anyway.”

  “And my guess is that the terrain between here and the Indian FOB doesn’t even have unimproved dirt roads. It’s broken by rivers, uneven ground, woods. Even a Stryker couldn’t handle it.”

  Crucible kept nodding.

  “So we’re going to have to walk.”

  Crucible swore under his breath. “That’s one hell of a walk.”

  “And we’re going to need to move fast. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. So, I want to keep the team small, light, and able to handle anything we come across. Now, I’m assuming that Sorcerers are at as much of a premium as aircraft?”

  “More,” Crucible said. “With supply cut off, magic is the only renewable resource this base has. Every Sorcerer you take lowers the survivability by an order of magnitude.”

  “Which is why I’ll only take one. Well, apart from me. That’ll be the heart of the team.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Myself, Vasuki-Kai, and Dhatri. One Terramancer. Four enlisted. One medic, One NCO, two scout/ snipers. I want you to pick ’em, Rick. The best we’ve got.”

  “Jesus. That’s not even a platoon.”

  “It doesn’t need to be. You’ve seen what I can do. I don’t know about Dhatri, but Vasuki-Kai is probably good for ten to twenty goblins on his own. A Terramancer can make sure we’re fed and have eyes around us. Rick, I know some
of our people practice Whispering on their own. Find me one of those. They get amnesty. I don’t care if it’s illegal, I’m making the call. Find someone who understands that.”

  Crucible crossed his arms over his chest. “This is stupid, Alan. “

  “Fine, but it’s also an order, and you’re going to see to it. I am going to fix this, Rick. I am going to fucking fix this, or I am going to die trying. And you’re going to help me.”

  Crucible met his eyes and held them. “Yes, sir.”

  “Um . . . there’s one other thing,” Bookbinder said into the silence that followed. He reached into his desk drawer, removed an envelope, and handed it across the desk to Crucible.

  The Pyromancer made no move to take it. “What’s that?”

  “You know what it is. I’d save an email in my drafts folder if I thought there was a chance in hell we’d have comms back home anytime soon. It’s for my wife and kids. If I don’t make it back, see that they get this when you get reconnected to the Home Plane.”

  Crucible nodded, took the letter, and folded it in half, tucking it into a pocket on his cargo pants. “You’re making it back, sir. You owe me.”

  Bookbinder cocked an eyebrow at him. “I owe you?”

  “You want me to run this place so you can run off and play some combo game of diplomat-hero? Well, you drive the big car, and I drive the little car. But this is a shit job, and you’re just sticking me with it so you can have an adventure. The least you can do is write me a weekend pass and put me in for a commendation.

  Hell, maybe a letter to the promotion board. If you’re dead, you won’t be able to put in the paperwork. That would just be wrong.”

  Bookbinder snorted. “Yeah, I guess it would.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Crucible found Bookbinder standing beside one of the new Terramantic gardens that Woon had ordered set up, his head craned skyward. A roc circled overhead. A quarter klick away by the perimeter, booms sounded, indicating the start of another attack.

  The lieutenant colonel jogged forward but stopped short of Bookbinder. “Sir! The air defenses . . .”

  “I ordered them shut off here.”

  “Wha . . . why?”

  “I’m practicing.”

  A goblin Terramancer snugged to the back of the roc’s neck.

  The basket on its back held three goblins. One of them was painted fully white, his hands extended above his head, bursting into flame. As Crucible watched, the goblin Pyromancer extended his hands and a gout of fire arced earthward, scouring the garden, turning most of it to ash. The roc swept past and began to circle back for another pass. Soldiers gathered around them, pointing weapons skyward, clearly itching to shoot but under orders not to. Bookbinder could feel the tension in their trigger fingers as clearly as any magical current.

  “Sir!” Crucible said again.

  “One more pass,” Bookbinder said. “Almost got it.”

  The roc came back around, descending. The Pyromancer leaned over the basket’s edge, sighting down at Bookbinder and the growing knot of people around him. He pumped a fist, fire swirling about his head and shoulders.

  “Christ!” Crucible shouted. “Incoming! Scatter!”

  The Pyromancer reached forward, the flames forming another deadly pillar.

  And then winked out.

  Bookbinder threw his head back, the muscles in his back clenching. “Fuuuuuuck,” he said, then threw his doubled current outward.

  The roc, the basket, the goblins all burst into flame. The huge bird screamed in agony. One of the goblins jumped from the basket, beating at the flames, plummeting to the ground.

  The roc flapped madly, trying to gain altitude, trailing greasy smoke from its wing tips, throwing the Terramancer from its back. He followed his fellows to the ground, screaming all the way down.

  “All right, that’s enough,” Bookbinder said, bending over, hands on his knees, panting. “Put ’em out of their misery.” At least twenty carbines opened up, followed by the howling torrents of the air-defense systems. Within moments, the roc and its passengers were wet ribbons, slowly drifting earthward.

  Bookbinder arched an eyebrow at Crucible. “Guess it works on more than just inanimate objects, huh?”

  Crucible stood dumbstruck. “Guess it does, sir.”

  “Still worried about me leading the team?”

  Crucible shrugged and gestured to the woman beside him.

  “You remember Major Woon, sir.”

  Bookbinder straightened and looked at the Terramancer, with her gray-streaked hair and serious expression. “I do remember. You’ve been doing a fine job with the gardens, Major. I’m sorry this one got a little cooked.”

  “That’s fine, sir. We can regrow it.”

  Bookbinder’s gaze traveled down to the ground. A small fox-looking creature sat there. It had huge ears and intelligent eyes.

  Its front legs ended in human-looking hands.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “We don’t have a name for it, sir. But they’re fairly common around the FOB,” Woon said.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Bookbinder said.

  “I know, sir,” Woon said. “Yes, I have it Whispered.”

  Bookbinder crossed his arms. “You are a very naughty major, you know that?”

  Woon colored. “Sir, Crucible assured me that amnesty would be granted for . . .”

  “At ease. He told you right. I just . . . I didn’t suspect it from you.”

  Woon cocked her head. “Why is that, sir?”

  “You seem so . . . by the book. Serious. I’d never pegged you as a lawbreaker. I mean, I’m glad you are, but I’m surprised.”

  Woon shrugged.

  “You don’t even go by your call sign.” Bookbinder said.

  Woon shrugged again. “I’ve been supply all my career, sir. When I came up Latent, that didn’t change. Most Terramancers are guys, so I never really fit in anyway.”

  “What is your call sign, anyway?” Bookbinder asked.

  “Branchmender, sir.” Crucible answered for her.

  “I hate it, sir.” Woon said.

  “Fair enough,” Bookbinder said. “What can I do for you?”

  Crucible cleared his throat. “Woon’s your Terramancer, sir. For the mission to FOB Sarpakavu.”

  “FOB . . . FOB what?”

  “The Indian FOB, sir. That’s what they call it.”

  “Woon is . . .? No. I need you running the Terramantic austerity measures here,” Bookbinder said.

  “Major Woon has a talented XO, sir,” Crucible replied. “A captain of real ability who she has fully briefed on your intentions regarding the austerity measures. Both Major Woon and I have complete confidence in his ability to get the job done and done right, sir.”

  “Sir,” Major Woon added, “if there’s a chance to save this installation, then I want to be a part of it. Not to glory-hound, but I am one of the most able Terramancers on this base, and definitely the best Whisperer outside of Umbra Coven.”

  Bookbinder stared at her, and some of Woon’s nervousness returned. “Sir,” she added.

  “Sir,” Crucible added, “Major Woon is following your excellent example of stepping up to the mission while simultaneously delegating authority to a competent subordinate.”

  Bookbinder chuckled. “Touché.”

  “You told me to get you the best,” Crucible said. “This is it.”

  “High praise,” Bookbinder said. “Very well. I guess you’re hired.”

  It took Woon a moment to suppress the smile that spread across her face, transforming her from tired woman to young girl. “You won’t regret it, sir.”

  “Here’s your enlisted compliment, sir.” Crucible gestured behind him at four men who looked as if they’d stepped out of an action film. Their leader, a sergeant first class, looked every inch the Spaghetti Western desperado, complete with flint gray eyes and a day’s growth of stubble on his chiseled jaw. The next two looked like they c
ould bend cold iron with their bare hands, their hair cropped Marine Corps short and their biceps straining the cuffed sleeves of their uniforms. The remaining soldier was noticeably shorter, had let his hair grow so long it bordered on insubordinate. He was thin in comparison to the rest, but his eyes were like his comrades’, calm, alert, focused.

  Killer’s eyes. All four men wore special forces tabs on their shoulders.

  “Sergeant First Class Sharp is your noncom, sir,” Crucible said. “Specialists Fillion and Anan are your shooters.” He gestured to the shorter man. “This is Specialist Archer. Best medic they’ve got. Sharp, Fillion, and Anan ran an op with Oscar Brit-ton before he escaped. They got a little banged up, but are back on the line now. Like Major Woon, they requested this assignment as soon as I put the word out. They come with impeccable credentials.”

  Bookbinder nodded, noting their professional nonchalance.

  “They look tough.”

  “Toughest we’ve got, sir. If there are operators who can get this job done, they’re it.”

  Sharp and his men said nothing. There was no bravado, no false modesty. They stood with folded arms, waiting for orders.

  “All right,” Bookbinder said. “I guess that’s that. Now all we have to do is contact Dhatri and . . .”

  “Sir.” Dhatri’s voice reached him. Bookbinder turned to see the subedar major, the towering naga trailing in his wake, hissing urgently.

  He halted a few paces away and cracked a British-style salute, palm outward. Bookbinder returned it in American fashion and smiled. “Speak of the devil, Subedar Major. We were just talking about you.”

  Dhatri puffed, looking harried. Vasuki-Kai hissed loudly, pointing first at him, then at Bookbinder.

  “Sir,” Dhatri said. “I apologize for coming unannounced, but His Highness is most insistent. He says that time is growing short and demands that you outfit an expedition to FOB Sarpakavu immediately.”

  Bookbinder laughed. Crucible and Woon grinned. Even the corners of Sharp’s mouth rose a bit.

  Dhatri’s expression hovered between shock and anger.

  Vasuki-Kai rolled his shoulders back, his heads darting upward, looking in all directions at once in apparent confusion. He hissed an interrogative.