by Myke Cole
Bookbinder arched his eyebrows. “Well, what have they got? I could go for some chow that isn’t bagged or Whispered to its death by the good major here.”
Archer pointed at the wagon, nodding.
“Hell, I could have done that,” Bookbinder said.
The goblin with the spear turned to a gnarled, smaller gob-lin. They talked for a moment before the smaller goblin nodded and gestured at the burlap covering the wagon. The goblin with the spear bowed, tapping his eyelids, then undid the cords, pulling the burlap back.
The wagon was piled high with goods; bolts of leather and woven cloth, bundles of some kind of pungent dried weed, strands of colored beads, stack upon stack of pelts. Bookbinder smiled as he stepped forward to inspect the wares.
Then he froze.
Scattered among the goblin-made goods were others that he recognized. A couple of pistol magazines, a gas-mask filter, a tattered helmet liner. Here was a small-arms field-reporting guide. There was a ruggedized, camouflaged copy of the Holy Bible.
Bookbinder felt Woon stiffen behind him and immediately raised a hand to her elbow. He smiled at the goblins, stroked his chin, and began turning over the goods in the cart, inspecting them. Woon started to speak, and he caught her eyes. “Not just now, Major.”
She looked angry, but nodded. “Sir.”
The goblins looked hopeful as Bookbinder made a great show of turning over a bundle of some dried spice, tied with a bit of colored yarn. He took another few minutes to peruse the trader’s wares before he stepped back, shaking his head.
“There’s nothing we need here, Sergeant Sharp. If you’d please send them on their way with our thanks.”
Sharp nodded to Archer, who spoke another burst of halting goblin. The traders frowned, gesturing to the cart and muttering, but Archer spoke again, and firmly.
Finally, one of the goblins stepped forward. Bookbinder’s hand dropped instinctively to his weapon, but they were only prodding the animal yoked to the cart, turning it around. It bleated plaintively at the change of direction. They trundled away from Bookbinder’s team. Bookbinder watched as the goblins faded into the gathering darkness, then finally let out his breath.
He stood in silence before he felt Sharp’s presence at his elbow. “They’re gone, sir. You okay?”
“You know what that was?” Bookbinder asked.
“I’ve got an idea, sir,” Sharp said.
“That was US military gear in that cart. I’d bet you a silver dollar it was pilfered off American corpses.
Sharp was silent for a moment. “Could be legitimately acquired. Maybe it was excessed from the FOB.”
“Do you really believe that, Sergeant?”
Sharp was silent again before answering, “No, sir. I don’t.”
“We should have said something,” Woon said. “I was going to—”
“I know,” Bookbinder cut her off, “and that’s why I stopped you. We don’t need to pick a fight out here in the middle of the wilderness for no reason, Major. Our mission is to get to FOB Sarpakavu, not to bring corpse-robbers to justice.”
“Could be they made the corpses in the first place, sir,” Woon added.
“And there’ll be a lot more corpses if we don’t reach the Indian FOB,” Bookbinder added. “Besides, if you wanted a fight, I think you’re going to get one. They’ve seen how few of us there are, noted our gear. If they trade in stolen US military goods, we’ll be far too tempting to pass up. If their village is anywhere nearby, I’d wager they’ll be back. You saw how they turned around and headed back the way they came after meeting us?”
Sharp nodded. “I did, sir.”
“I’d say we need to be extra alert tonight. I don’t doubt we can handle even a sizeable goblin force, what with His Highness’s help, eh? What do you think?”
Sharp didn’t hesitate. “We can do for them, sir, in far greater numbers than what we just saw.”
“Okay,” Bookbinder said. “Let’s risk moving on as long as we can tonight. I’d like to get as far from our original position as possible. When we finally bed down, we’re going to have to be extra careful.”
The dark came on fast, and they were only able to walk for a short distance before the gloom made the march treacherous, forcing them to set up camp. They ate in silence, casting worried eyes over their shoulders. Bookbinder imagined that every shifting shadow was an approaching goblin army, but after an hour, there was no sign of any enemy. Vasuki-Kai set his watch, assuring them he’d smell them a long way off. Bookbinder was uneasy anyway, but exhaustion won out in the end, and he drifted off to sleep curled around the shotgun’s stock, the plastic against his cheek comforting despite its hard, cold surface.
Bookbinder was awakened by the working of a carbine’s action and Vasuki-Kai’s hissing. He sat up, rubbing his face and fumbling with the shotgun. “Whassgoinon?” he asked of no one in particular.
“Vasuki-Kai smells something.” Sharp’s voice was urgent, hushed. “You were right, sir. They’re coming back. Just hang here, we’re going to flank them. Check your fire that way.” He pointed into the darkness.
Bookbinder nodded, slowly rocking to his knees and standing up.
“Sir,” Sharp said again. “I need you to remember that. If you fire to the east, you’re going to hit us.”
“I’ve got it,” Bookbinder said.
Sharp gestured to Anan and Archer, and they disappeared into the darkness.
Vasuki-Kai didn’t draw his weapons, but his hands danced across the many pommels. Dhatri and Woon cradled their carbines close, ready to raise them at a moment’s notice. Bookbinder felt Woon Drawing her magic about her.
A few moments later, he began to hear the tramping of many feet through the grass to their east. Goblins, attempting to be stealthy and failing miserably. By the sound of it, there were many more than they’d seen with the trading wagon.
Bookbinder’s muscles began to cramp with the effort of making himself sit still as the goblins approached. At long last, they abandoned stealth and charged, shouting a war cry as they rushed the camp. Vasuki-Kai spun, drawing his blades and Woon whipped her magic forward, Binding it to the earth around them.
Shots rang out, and the war cries turned to howls of agony.
Bookbinder could hear Anan’s SAW rumbling in the near distance.
Two goblins burst into the encampment and the earth rose to meet them, formed by Woon’s magic into yokes that seized their necks and slammed them down into the ground.
“Keep them alive!” Bookbinder shouted as he racked the shotgun’s action and bolted in the direction of the gunfire. You think you’re actually going to help out three hardened Special Forces operators? Show some common sense!
He stopped at camp’s edge, warring with himself, and within moments heard the goblins racing through the tall grass away from them, giving up the fight. The operators’ guns spoke some more, a shot here and there, but it was clear that the ambush had broken the goblins’ nerve. Bookbinder stood and waited until they stopped firing, and an eerie silence crept over the camp, with only a few wisps of lingering gun smoke to indicate there had been anything amiss, until they, too, were swallowed by the darkness.
“Sir.” Sharp’s voice made Bookbinder jump. The man had crept up next to him. “They’re routed.”
Sharp’s tone was morose, his eyes looked big. “What happened?”
Bookbinder asked.
Archer appeared out of the darkness, shaking his head.
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 goblin’s 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 through 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 s
toic, 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 XX
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.
