by Alma Boykin
Captain ben David’s advanced party found Grauberg and company just before sundown. Rada dragged herself out of her darkness and did her best to act cheerful, if tired. The nap had helped, but the food the GDF people brought helped more, and she began to feel a bit less like a shadow herself. But only a bit. She stayed in the background while Grauberg and Lee gave their initial reports, and she grinned as Weber vanished in a sea of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. “Be careful—we might need him again!” someone joked, and laughter echoed back from the bare stones around the mine entrance. It wasn’t that far downslope to where ben David had left his vehicles, but Lieutenant Grauberg shook his head. “No sir, thank you. We need to retrieve our dead.”
“Where are they?” the Israeli asked. Grauberg signaled and Rada handed over the map she’d made of their path.
“The black crosses are your people,” she explained. Sergeant Pierce took a digital photo of the map, checked to make sure that her image was good enough to follow, and handed the display back.
“We’ll bring them home,” ben David promised—only after that assurance did Grauberg’s people shoulder their weapons and start downhill, away from the mine. Rada and Wolf Weber traded back rifles.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Wolf teased gently. “Yours weighs at least a kilo less than mine does.”
She snorted, “I’ll drop it over a cliff,” and mimicked holding his very expensive rifle over the edge of the road.
“No thank you.” He handed the Gorgonian Navy blast rifle back. “Ah, you have four shots left,” he advised.
“Thanks,” she sighed, then caught herself after tripping on a small rock. The stocky German gave her a sympathetic look and took her left arm, supporting some of her weight for the last kilometer of the trip, even though his injured arm hurt like fire and he was easily as tired as she was. They boarded the troop transports and drove into the night’s silence. Rada tried to sleep but she couldn’t, so she watched over the others as they dozed and expended more of her energy helping accelerate their bodies’ own healing.
Just before midnight, the convoy pulled into the combined GDF/Bundeswehr encampment outside of Querfurt. Corporal Mikitori helped Rada out of the vehicle, and she walked around trying to get her blood flowing again. “Thank you, Mikitori. You too, Ford. You should at the very least get DSOs for keeping up with me. I owe you, and I’ll put in very, very good words for both of you,” she managed, forcing a grin as if nothing were really wrong. Her shoulder ached and the rest of her body wasn’t much better off. Her soul didn’t bear thinking about.
A tall figure appeared in front of her and Sergeant Lee gestured over his shoulder. “The rest of our people are over this way, ma’am. Command One wants to debrief as soon as we’ve eaten something.”
Rada’s bottom lip stuck out a little. “But the marmots were very filling, really,” she assured him. Lee didn’t know whether to laugh or to whap the civilian on the top of her helmet. He settled for sighing loudly and gesturing for her to lead the way, which she did. Grauberg and his people followed, and no one complained when they joined the late-night food line. Hot coffee revived the humans, and tea helped perk Rada up a little, but she still felt as if she’d just fought a running battle, then walked from Wales to London. Large quantities of “don’t ask won’t tell” stew, fresh bread, and baked apples put some color back into everyone. All too soon, though, a messenger found them and the British Branch soldiers and their advisor made their slow way over to the Brutus.
The basic debrief was blessedly fast since McKendrick knew that everyone was tired. He listened to the general outline of events, minus the xenologist’s personal report. Then he sent them to find bunks. However much she tried, Rada still couldn’t sleep, so she hunted up the women’s showers and a portable laundry and took a much-needed bath under very hot water. While she washed and dried, her clothes did too, and soon she was presentable, if a tad wrinkled. The adhesive on her ears gave up the ghost, and she tucked the silicone and fur counterfeits into her satchel, then wiped out the inside of her armor and helmet.
Lieutenant Gretchkaninov found her outside, soaking up the morning sun just after dawn. “Commander Na Gael? Captain ben David’s back with our people.” She led Rada to the vehicles. Motion came to a halt as the bodies were carefully, reverently lifted out of the trucks and carried to the temporary morgue. A Lutheran minister said a few words and the gathered soldiers saluted their fallen comrades. The formal memorial services would come later.
“Come with me, Manx One,” McKendrick said from behind her. Rada fell in two paces behind his right shoulder. Once more she found herself in the Brutus, now very crowded, with all the staff officers in attendance, as well as a few Germans leaning in the door. “It’s cramped, but we need the privacy,” the general explained as he took Sheep Cluj’s usual place, while the lieutenant wedged himself into a corner. “Report, Commander Na Gael. Then we’ll take a pause and you’ll give yours, Captain ben David.”
She’d been thinking about how to tell her story and launched in from when she, Ford, and Mikitori had gotten separated from O’Neil’s people. Rada praised Lieutenant Grauberg highly, as well as her two guards, and gave Grauberg and Sergeants Lee and Weber all the credit for finding and killing the Vreenahlwee’s hive-mind. She omitted finding the feeder-breeder chamber, although she mentioned that Lieutenant Kinsky had located some of the civilians and had remained with them prior to the final assault on the hive mind. She also mentioned his attempt to kill her, but blamed herself for not thinking about how her shape-shifting would upset people. McKendrick, ben David, and O’Neil asked a few questions, as did the German officers. “And then we worked our way back to the surface. Lieutenant Grauberg managed to contact some of our people, so we waited to be relieved,” she finished.
Captain O’Neil didn’t look pleased with Rachel’s account of why she ended up heading for the hills, but couldn’t say anything in the presence of the Germans. After a few more questions about how the reservists did, the Bundeswehr men excused themselves and left. McKendrick wanted to know more about the patients in the hospital, and had her back up the story to the point when O’Neil called her in. As she started her account, someone knocked on the outside of the Brutus. It was one of the Austrian staff officers. He looked ill.
“Sir, we found what the Vreenahlwee did with their civilian and some military captives,” Major Weismann said, his voice shaky. He called up images on his digital camera’s display screen, and James McKendrick thought he was going to lose every meal he’d ever eaten. “Ah, the medical people couldn’t save most of them and the survivors are apparently insane from pain and fear,” the major managed to say before his voice cracked with emotion.
“Holy Lord God,” McKendrick choked. “How many?”
“Over a thousand, in five chambers, thus far.” Weismann got himself back under control as ben David nodded, thin lipped. “We found people alive in four of them. Everyone in the fifth, the smallest, was already dead. They’d each been hit once in the head and once in the torso with some kind of electrical discharge or energy pulse.” The British officers looked as one to their xenology specialist. She gazed back, waiting.
“Thank you, Major. If you haven’t told General Kohl, please break the news to him as well.” McKendrick ordered quietly. As soon as the man cleared earshot, McKendrick stated, “You found them first.”
“Yes, sir. Per my duty as a medic and Healer, I relieved their suffering, then terminated the Vreenahlwee larvae.” She made no apology for what she’d done, but by now McKendrick could read the agonizing pain and guilt behind the woman’s calm demeanor. He leaned back, both appalled and unsurprised.
“You took those actions why?”
Commander Na Gael met his eyes. “Because there was nothing else that could be done for them, and to spare your people from having innocent blood on their hands.”
Edward O’Neil’s words dripped disgust and hatred. “You murdered how many helpless people?”
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“I didn’t count, sir. They were too parasitized to recover even if they had gotten medical treatment then and there, so I did the only thing I could to ease their pain.”
“Murdering bitch!” O’Neil lunged toward her, slamming his fist into her abdomen, then her face. Moshe ben David and Sheep Cluj grabbed him before the second blow connected and hauled the English officer back as Rada doubled over, gasping through clenched teeth and trying not to lose her supper.
Furious, McKendrick grabbed O’Neil by the collar and twisted, choking the man. “Nivver lay a hand on Commander Na Gael, ye’ ken?! Did ye’ nae hear th’ major?” The Scotsman snapped back into Standard English. “The medics are giving most of the Vreenahlwee’s other victims morphine to stop their pain because that’s all they can do before the poor souls die. Rachel did what she could, the best way that she could,” McKendrick growled, his burr still as thick as an Edinburgh fog. O’Neil croaked but couldn’t get anything more out around the general’s grip. The Scotsman looked over his shoulder as Rada sat up, paler than usual. “You are dismissed, Rachel. Go get some air.”
“Yes, sir,” and she vanished out the door. Only after she was out of sight did the furious general release his logistics officer, who had begun wheezing and whose face had turned the color of oatmeal. Cluj and ben David glared at him and he snarled back, then subsided at McKendrick’s warning growl.
Rada went looking for a quiet place recover her breath. Instead she found Grauberg, Weber, and several of the Germans arguing with someone. “What’s all this?” she asked.
“Do you know who fired the shot that killed the hive-mind?” the stranger demanded.
“Sergeant Weber did,” she informed him. “Lieutenant Alois Grauberg, who should really be Captain at least, led the way into the central chamber and he and the other Germans and some British soldiers destroyed the force shield protecting the hive-mind. Sergeant Weber fired the killing shots.”
The stranger frowned. “And why do you know this . . ?”
“Commander Na Gael,” she filled in. “I was in the tail as medic.”
A hauntingly familiar voice inquired into her head, «Finally learning not to charge in first, are you?» Rada gasped as Joschka’s ghost walked towards her. He looked just as he had when she’d dropped him off on Earth in 1833! Her eye rolled into her head and Joschka darted forward, catching her as she sank to the ground.
“Scheisse!” Weber hissed, dropping to a knee to check her pulse.
Joschka carefully opened her eye and then let it close again. He sighed. “She’s just asleep. I’ve seen her do this before when she pushes herself too long and too hard. All you need to do is find a quiet place and leave her there for an hour or so. Then she’ll be fine,” he said as he got to his feet.
As he did, Captain ben David came out of the Brutus and walked up to the group. “Excuse me, sirs. Have any of you seen,” and he glanced down. “Oh dear. What did she say to whom this time?”
The Germans laughed at his exasperated tone. “She’s asleep, sir,” Grauberg explained through Weber.
“I suppose she’s not going to be answering General McKendrick’s other questions just now,” ben David smiled, shaking his head as Rachel whistled a little in her sleep. “Unless you want to wake her up?” he asked the observers.
General von Hohen-Drachenburg laughed quietly, blue eyes dancing. “No, and I don’t recommend waking her abruptly. The results can be spectacularly bad.” He sobered and continued, “Is McKendrick in there?” he asked, pointing to the Brutus.
“Yes, my lord General. Shall I get him?” ben David started turning that direction.
Joschka turned, too. “No need. I’m going that way en route to the command post.” A few minutes later, as Hohen-Drachenburg and McKendrick walked to the field command post, Joschka decided that once an appropriate interval had lapsed he would carefully and discreetly see if Rada might be interested in making their friendship into something more. But not for a while yet. Now, everyone had much more pressing concerns to attend to, like the displaced and the dead. Winter would be coming soon and the refugees needed help. And the GDF needed to mourn, learn, and rebuild. “First, Major General McKendrick, congratulations on your promotion,” the Graf-General began. James blinked at the Austrian, a little stunned at the news. Joschka smiled and extended his hand. “London made it official half an hour ago, based on your stellar job rebuilding the British branch and the work you and your people did here. Second, I need you and General Kohl to brief me on field conditions and on the refugee situation.”
Rada woke up in the back of a troop transport. She lay still for a while, trying to remember what she’d last seen and how she came to be where she was. Oh yes—she’d fallen asleep on her feet. She’d been so tired that she’d hallucinated and seen Joschka’s ghost. The Wanderer closed her eye again and covered her face with her hands. O’Neil’s words echoed in her mind, and she wondered if even God could forgive her for what she’d done. Why Lord, she begged, why did You take Joschka and not me? He had a family, friends, people who loved him and depended on him. I don’t and never will. Why couldn’t I have died instead? When no answer came, Rada took a deep breath and rolled upright, then clambered out of the lorry. She got her bearings and started back to the British portion of the camp.
“Halten Sie!” a voice yelled, and she paused, turning to see who’d called. An Austrian colonel rushed up to her. “Who are you and what are you doing carrying arms in this area?”
“Commander Na Gael, xenology specialist, British Branch. I’m under arms because I am authorized to be so by the GDF’s military commander.”
The man took a good look at her and obviously did not care for what he saw. “If that’s true, why are you not in proper uniform?”
Commander Ni Drako was not in the mood to put up with a rear echelon idiot who looked to be at least ten kilos overweight and whose closest brush with combat had probably been watching war movies. “I am not in uniform because I am a civilian contractor, Colonel Mendelsohn,” she reminded him. “And I am tired, hungry, and need to report to Brigadier McKendrick. If you will excuse me?” and she turned to leave. The Austrian grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“You will do no such thing! I am putting you under arrest, whoever you are. No civilian is allowed in this sector.” His eyes narrowed and he shook the small female. “Just what are you really, woman?”
Joschka rounded the corner in time to hear the last sentence and to see the importuning Austrian land flat on his back. Mendelsohn’s head hit the macadam with an unpleasant thunk. “What am I, Colonel? Sick of bloodshed, luckily for you.” Rada began limping slowly toward the British command area.
“Commander Ni Drako, one moment please,” Joschka called quietly in Trader. She slammed to attention, and Joschka glanced around for witnesses besides the prone colonel. Mendelsohn would not be looking anywhere but up for a few minutes, the Graf-General decided, and he relaxed. “At ease,” he said before walking around and resting his hands on her shoulders. He recognized the person looking out of the silvery eye, and it was not Rachel Na Gael. “Commander Ni Drako, disengage,” he ordered, voice gentle but firm. “Disengage.”
The woman dropped her eye. “Yes, sir,” she murmured. She glanced up for a brief instant. “You’re really alive?” she asked plaintively.
Joschka smiled. “As alive as you are,” he assured her. The woman took a steadying breath and nodded, again looking at the ground. “How are you?”
Too quickly she said, “I’m fine, my lord General.”
“Truth, Rada, are you all right?” he demanded, hands gripping her shoulders.
She thought about it. “No sir, I’m not. But the damage is here,” she tapped her heart, “not here,” and she waved towards the rest of her body.
Joschka didn’t offer an empty platitude or say “I know how you feel,” because he didn’t know and he didn’t want to. Instead, after a final check to see who was around, he pulled her into a tight embrace
, cradling her head against his chest and resting his chin on her hair. She returned the gesture, and even through his body armor he could feel her shaking. “We won, remember?” Joschka whispered.
She shook her head. “You and the humans won, my lord General.” I just walked a few more light years down the road to damnation, the Wanderer thought to herself. Not that it matters much by now.
The Graf-General rebuked his advisor, “No, Rada, we won. Human, Wanderer, HalfDragon, and whoever else waded in on our side. We’re part of a team, remember?” He made her meet his eyes. For once she truly looked her age, and Joschka thanked their God that he’d never had to see or do what McKendrick said she’d just survived. “Hairball, we won,” he repeated.
She took a deep breath. There was no point in ruining his relief and triumph. “You’re right, Awful, we won. And eventually I’ll be able to celebrate. Just not now.” He watched her face and posture change as Commander Na Gael replaced Rada Lord Ni Drako in his friend’s eye. A groan from off to the side caught their attention, and they glanced over to see Colonel Mendelsohn trying to figure out how he’d ended up on his back. “And if you will excuse me, sir, I still need to report to General McKendrick.”
Joschka released his friend. She rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek before letting go and starting away. As she did, he slid a card into her hand. “My private number,” he told her. “I have yours, unless you’ve changed it?”
The card vanished and a faint almost smile creased Rachel’s lips. “No changes, sir.” She hesitated for a moment, weighing something, then added, “Just remember the time difference please, Awful.”
