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

by Myke Cole

  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 weapons 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 stood and 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.”

  “But he’s okay? What about Desda? Is she with him?” Stanley’s voice rose, the words coming faster.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Britton. I don’t know who that is. And I can’t speak for your son. I don
’t know where he is or how he is now.”

  “Desda is my wife. What happened to Oscar?” His concern increased Bookbinder’s trust. The man cared about his family, and Bookbinder knew that ache well.

  “He . . .” Bookbinder paused as he tried to figure out how to explain it. After a moment, he decided on the truth. “He’s a fugitive. We had him, but he escaped. I don’t know where he is now. But we really need to get him back. Maybe you can help with that.”

  Stanley shook his head ruefully. “The last time we saw each other we . . . we had words. It was bad.”

  He looked up at Bookbinder, his eyes wet. “I just . . . I just want to talk to him.”

  Bookbinder nodded. “I’ve got two girls, Mr. Britton. I can’t wait to get back to them. Come with us, and we’ll try to reunite you. You might be talking to your son through bars, but you can still talk.”

  Stanley paused. “Back to your base? You’re doing a patrol out here?”

  “Not exactly. It’s an A–to–B run. But we’ll be getting back there eventually.”

  Vasuki-Kai hissed, waving his arms. “His Highness says he will not travel with this animal. This Saala kutta attacked his Bandhav and this is the same as an attack on his own royal person. He commands you to shoot him.” Dhatri translated.

  Bookbinder turned and stabbed a finger at the naga. “Tell His Highness that I respectfully decline. This man is a citizen of the United States of America. As far as I know, I am the ranking officer from that country in this entire plane of existence. That makes this man my ward and my responsibility. We will not shoot him. We will protect him. With our lives if necessary.”

  Dhatri hesitated.

  “Tell him!” Bookbinder said.

  Dhatri turned and translated haltingly. The naga prince’s heads weaved an irritated dance, and he paused, several of the heads locking gazes with Bookbinder. After a tense moment, Vasuki-Kai hissed a single syllable and turned away. Dhatri following.

  He turned back to Stanley. “I’m afraid I have to insist you come with us, Mr. Britton. For the reasons I just stated.”

  Stanley seemed even less impressed than Vasuki-Kai.

  “Can you get back to my wife and son?”

  “I can’t promise anything, but you have a better chance of finding him with us than just staying here.”

  Stanley thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Bookbinder sighed. “Outstanding. We’re in something of a hurry. Is there anything you need from your . . . home . . . before we go?”

  Stanley nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Sharp, ever practical, halted his jog up the hillside with a touch on his elbow. “Sir, we’re low on supplies. You got any food? We also need water. Nasty stuff’ll do. We can clean it.”

  Stanley nodded. “Hope you like devil-horse jerky. I know of a spring not far from here. Just give me a minute.”

  He disappeared inside the cave and returned a moment later, a hide bag tied across his chest. He carried several bundles of dried meat that gave off a pungent, smoky odor and distributed them.

  He paused. “This run is dangerous?”

  Bookbinder nodded. “It has been so far.”

  “Then I don’t suppose I can prevail on you for a firearm?”

  He tapped the sword, now slung as his side. “This is kind of old-fashioned.”

  Vasuki-Kai hissed what Bookbinder assumed was a concerted objection. He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

  “You’re a civilian, sir. I can’t just go dispensing you weapons. We’ll keep you covered.”

  Stanley gave him a hard look. “I was a full bird like you. I’ve got more ops under my belt than—”

  “Sir,” Bookbinder cut him off, “I am not going to stand here and compare dicks with you. This is my team and my mission. You want to get back to your son? Let’s get moving.”

  They locked eyes for a long moment. That might have made him uncomfortable before, but Bookbinder was having none of it now. He held Stanley’s gaze until the man looked away. “All right,” he said.

  “Glad we got that cleared up,” Bookbinder said. “Welcome to the outfit. Now let’s go find that spring.”

  Chapter XXI

  FOB Sarpakavu

  This levy and seawall system was built in partnership between the SOC and the US Army Corps of Engineers in response to Lake Pontchartrain’s rising water levels post-Katrina. Scientists estimate that without it, the City of New Orleans would have been completely submerged years ago. Just one of the ways Terramantic Engineering is working hard to keep America safe! Please check out www.magicinaction.gov to learn more.

  —Text from a sign on the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway

  Stanley was true to his word. Five kilometers north of the cave, they arrived at a kidney-shaped pool of water, bubbling between a broken tumble of rocks. Stanley led them there effortlessly, walking smooth and silent like Sharp, his eyes alert and his sword drawn. Bookbinder relaxed a bit seeing the man prove trustworthy, but kept a close eye on him. He doubted that any man could have survived out here on his own for as long as Stanley Britton had and not be at least a little crazy. Vasuki-Kai’s assessment of Stanley was clear. He always kept between Stanley and Dhatri, never allowing less than three heads to watch him at all times.

  Sharp pulled Bookbinder aside once they reached the spring.

  “Good call on the gun, sir.”

  “You think he can be trusted?”

  The sergeant was pensive. “Retired Marine colonel? Probably, but he’s got a crazy eye.”

  “You’ve got a crazy eye.” Bookbinder smirked. “You ever look in a mirror, Sharp?”

  Sharp shrugged. “Not a whole lot of call for mirrors out here, sir.”

  “How the hell did he survive out here on his own?” We’ve lost two, and we’re a highly trained and well-equipped outfit, with a naga to boot. The thought of those two lost men plagued him. He knew that the SOF operators thought of themselves as independent, but this was his team and his mission. Of all the times he’d dreamed of command, he’d never imagined what it would be like to lose the people who worked for him.

  Sharp took a quick look at Stanley. “Wiry son of a bitch, sir. Tough. Recon’s no joke. He’s a fighter.”

  “So were Anan and Fillion.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself, sir. People die in this line of work. That’s just how it is.”

  Talking about it made Bookbinder feel worse. He changed the subject. “Well, you just keep an eye on our guest there,” he said, gesturing to Stanley. “I can hardly deny him a sword, but if he tries anything . . .”

  Sharp nodded and tapped his carbine’s trigger guard. “Got it, sir.”

  Stanley was eerily silent as they washed themselves as much as they could stand in the cold air and filled their water bladders.

  With the boomers gone, they saved their decontamination tablets, trusting in the fresh-flowing spring to be clean. Bookbinder had to admit that he was happy just to drink the stuff fresh from the ground. The boomers completely sterilized the water they touched, leaving it tasting . . . bland. Freshwater had a metallic thrill to it, especially in the enhancing air of the Source.

  Stanley kept his eyes on the horizon and his weapon close.

  Bookbinder stood amazed by his self-possession.

  The man has been stuck out here for months, hasn’t seen another person in all that time. I would be bubbling over with questions, desperate for the chance to talk to someone. Anyone. But he’s more concerned with overwatch. I guess that’s what kept him alive.

  Bookbinder judged the setting sun and gave the order to make camp. “We might as well take advantage of the water while we’re this close to it.”

  As Vasuki-Kai took up his fan-headed watch, Stanley finally relaxed, grounding his pack, never keeping his hand far from his sword. He washed carefully, giving little heed to the cold.

  He gestured to Sharp’s pocket, where the sergeant’s knife peeked out above its securing clip.
“That sharp?”

  Sharp nodded. “You could shave with it.”

  Stanley smiled. “Precisely what I had in mind.”

  Sharp tossed it to him, and Stanley set to work. An hour later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he finally emerged from his crouch, his face and head completely shaven. The wild man was gone. In his place was a handsome older gentleman; distinguished, even regal. Bookbinder could see the Marine colonel he had been.

  “That’s more like it,” Stanley said. “Kind of hard to keep a blade as sharp as it should be out here.”

  “You look good,” Bookbinder said.

  “I feel good,” Stanley said. Then he paused, frowning.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I never said that. I never really said that enough to anyone.”

  Bookbinder nodded. “We’re all in this together.”

  “So, what’s been happening in my absence? Walsh still president?”

  Bookbinder sat on a low flat rock beside him. “Last time I checked. It’s been a while since I phoned home.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Bookbinder did. The wall of Stanley’s reticence broke, and he interrogated Bookbinder long into the night about the state of things on the Home Plane, the FOB, any scrap of detail about his family. He told Bookbinder how his son had gated him here, how he’d survived, dug out a home in that cave, resigned himself to a life of solitude, scratching to survive.

  “God was teaching me a lesson,” Stanley said. “I was a hard-ass before this all happened. I guess I still am, but I get it now. It thawed my heart. And you know what I’m thinking now?”

  Bookbinder looked a question at him.

  “I’m thinking God sent you to give me a second chance. I think he’s done with this phase of my learning. Now it’s time for me to make amends. I’m going to start with Oscar. Then Desda. I’m ready.”

  “But he gated you out here. The papers were saying it was murder.”

  Stanley was silent for a moment. “I won’t lie. I’m . . . angry. He put me here, and it’s been a tough row to hoe, but there’s . . . some things.”