Nomad Mortis: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8)

by Craig Martelle

  Marcie looked defiant, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. She could find no other words.

  “Get out there and keep your team alive. There’s no one in your squad who is faster or stronger than you, and together, with the combined brainpower of your people, there’s no one here who’s smarter. Carry out your orders,” Terry finished.

  “Yes, sir.” She smiled and ran for her squad, still blushing for forcing a confrontation with the colonel. No one wanted to get chewed out in front of the whole platoon, but Marcie had left Terry no choice. There was no time for niceties.

  Joseph sidled up to Terry.

  “What?” Terry snapped.

  “What do we do with him?” Joseph asked, pointing to their captive Forsaken.

  “Almost forgot about him,” Terry said with one raised eyebrow. “Bring him along.”

  “Almost forgot,” Joseph parroted slowly. Terry ignored him.

  “Move out!” Terry ordered and the three groups went their separate, but mutually supporting, ways.

  Cory worked her way close to her parents, but Char saw her and made her get in the back. Joseph remained up front with his prisoner, but was sympathetic, signaling that he wished he was back there with Cordelia.

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  Terry and Char marched forward, Char making a conscious effort to be out of step. She always said they looked like goobs marching in step when they walked together.

  TH didn’t care what they looked like, but Char had her standards.

  Joseph meandered, keeping pace but weaving as he walked since he tried to look at everything as he passed.

  As they approached the main entrance to the city, they found that it had been blocked off and ten men stood alert with rifles. Terry held up his hand, stopping the squad, then signaled for them to spread out and assume firing positions.

  He and Char continued ahead, holding their hands up. Their pistols were in their holsters and fully loaded. They could clear the guards and not even have to reload. Terry and Char knew that it would be no contest, but one of the guards could get off a lucky shot. And then there was the humanity of keeping people alive.

  Although with the recent reduction in Forsaken numbers, Terry was happy with the improvement to the ratio.

  “We removed seven Forsaken today. That gives the people that much better of a chance to fight back. Numbers are on our side!” Terry said happily.

  “Is that what you’re thinking about, not the ten soldiers standing guard?” Char wondered, smiling at the men ahead.

  “They’re not soldiers, but I think we could whip them into shape,” Terry replied, studying the body language and demeanor of the men as he tried to determine if any of them would take a shot.

  “Ho!” he called, waving his arms over his head and splaying his fingers to show that he wasn’t carrying anything. “We would like to talk with you.”

  “That’s her!” someone out of sight yelled. The men raised their weapons. Terry and Char stood still.

  “You shot my men!” a large man in front shouted. He lowered his weapon when he saw that the others were holding theirs steady. “I ought to kill you right now!”

  Char started moving forward, dropping her arms and walking casually. Terry let her go, knowing that the men were less likely to shoot her, even though she was the one who shot up the checkpoint during the night. They’d never seen Terry before, but he looked military through and through.

  “Hold right there, dude,” the man said, raising his rifle. Char glowered as she stopped. All eyes were on her, so Terry moved slowly to the side to give himself an unobstructed line of fire.

  “What do you want to say that you think we want to hear?” the man sneered, looking to his fellows to back up his bravado. Some of them forced a laugh. Others stared over their barrels at the purple-eyed beauty with silver-streaked hair framing one side of her face.

  “I want to tell you that there’s been a change of command, new leadership installed for the city of San Francisco,” she told him.

  “New leaders for San Fran? I never knew who the old ones were. Makes no difference to me,” the man replied, jutting his lower lip at her in defiance.

  “Come now, dude,” she said, slipping into a New York accent. “You have to answer to someone. We all do.”

  “I don’t. I’m my own boss!” the man claimed, taking a bold step forward, raising his rifle, and pulling the trigger. The rifle coughed, sending a round well over Char’s head as he adjusted to fire again.

  At the speed of thought, Char pulled her pistol and fired one shot, hitting him between the eyes. “HOLD!” she bellowed at the rest of them as her Glock plunged back into its holster and Char put her hands back in the air.

  Terry’s pistol leaped into his hand.

  “I have no patience in dealing with stupid people. Put your stupid fucking rifles down!” Char snarled as she stormed forward. The men stared dumbly at their fallen leader.

  “If you had any questions before, they are now answered. I’m in charge. Do I need to kill anyone else to prove it?”

  The men looked at each other before the first one lowered his weapon. “No.”

  “Open this barricade up and let the traffic through! People in the city need to eat, don’t they?” Char proclaimed.

  The men quickly removed the hasty barricade and waved the traffic forward. They stopped the first truck.

  “What in the holy jump the fuck up and down are you doing?” Terry bellowed and hurried to the man stopping the truck.

  “It’s what we do. We’re supposed to check for contraband,” the man explained, backing away from the enraged colonel.

  “Define contraband,” Terry demanded.

  “Weapons mainly, but fuels too, like gasoline or alcohol. The only place it’s legal to get that is right here. The traders on the wharf control that.”

  “That’ll be our next stop. Your new job is to make sure that we don’t have a traffic jam, which means you simply wave people through and tell them they need to drive slowly while in the city. No drinking and driving, now, do you hear?” Terry quipped.

  The man bobbed his head emphatically.

  “The rest of you come with us. We only need two at this gate and tell those two goofy bastards at the pedestrian gate to abandon their post and get up here.”

  Terry waved the guards to a spot on the pavement while one of them ran off. “You! You look like you’re in charge,” Terry said. The man shrugged one shoulder and turned to his colleagues, who quickly looked away.

  He nodded noncommittally to Terry.

  “Fine. You’re in charge of this mob. Is that one coming back?” Terry pointed in the direction of the pedestrian gate.

  “I would expect,” the man said without conviction.

  Terry’s anger was growing with these half-assed answers.

  Time for an attitude adjustment. Terry grabbed the man’s collar in one hand and pulled it tightly around his neck. He then lifted the man with one arm.

  “We need to come to an understanding. When I ask a question, you give me a good, honest answer. If you don’t sound confident, I get the impression that you’re lying to me, and I just can’t have that. I’ve been lied to before and it pisses me off. People end up dead and that makes me sad. Do you want to be responsible for making me sad?” Terry didn’t know the man’s name. “Whatever your name is…”

  “I’m called Breaker D,” the man gasped as he hung at the end of Terry’s arm.

  Three men appeared and joined the others. “I’ll be damned, Breaker D. He did come back.”

  Terry put the man down and straightened his collar. “Here’s what you’re going to do, because it would be a monumental waste of my time to do it. You are going to gather the men from every checkpoint around the city and tell them all to come back here. San Francisco is now an open city. Free trade for all and people can come and go as they please. Meet me… Fuck, I don’t know. Where should we meet?”

  “Ri
ght here?” Breaker D ventured.

  “Fuck no! I want a place convenient for me, not you, dickhead,” Terry barked.

  “I don’t know what’s convenient for you,” the man stuttered.

  “I don’t either, so right here then. Good choice, and gather all the weapons, secure them, and turn them over to one of my people,” Terry directed.

  “I don’t know any of your people,” the man countered.

  “Holy crap! They’re dressed like me, dumbass!”

  “Gotcha,” Breaker D replied.

  “How long is it going to take to do all that? There’s no way on this planet I’m coming back here early and waiting on you. Be here before nightfall with both day and night shifts, account for everyone and if you fuck with me, we’re going to have some serious words.” Terry loomed over the man, who only nodded in reply.

  Terry dusted off his hands and returned to the main gate, where Char was engaged in a spirited conversation with the general.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  San Francisco

  “Maybe you can untie him before you beat the crap out of him?” Terry offered without intervening. He took a piece of beef jerky someone offered him and gnawed on it as he watched the traffic flowing into and out of the city. The guards left at the gate were dutifully waving the vehicles through.

  The three squads had consolidated, bringing the platoon back together. Terry pointed to Kim.

  “Stand-to fifty percent and catch some chow,” Terry ordered the platoon. After settling his squad in, Ramses found his way to Cory’s side. Char continued her encouragement of the general. Joseph finally stopped her.

  “I’m getting nothing. It’s not working,” he told her. She reared back, but Joseph grabbed her wrist. “Give it a break, please.” Joseph leaned close to her. “Is this what you want the platoon to see?”

  She relaxed before moving close to the general’s smashed faced. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot,” she promised.

  Char took a seat next to Terry. He smiled at his wife, enjoying the curve of her face and the sparkle in her eyes.

  “You look tired,” Terry told her as he traced a finger down her silver streak. “Silver belly fur.”

  “It’s been a long night,” she replied, hanging her head and letting her shoulders sag. “Just a little more to do and we can declare victory.”

  “It’s not getting done while we sit here,” Terry suggested, standing. “Corporal Marcie! Take charge of this thing and keep it secure while we’re gone. I expect we’ll be back by nightfall.” Terry looked for his platoon sergeant. “Sergeant Kimber, when that mob of knuckleheads gets back, keep them here and out of trouble. Take all their weapons and make sure they’re safed out. Confiscate all their ammunition, too.”

  “And get on the comm and recall the two scout teams. Have them come here,” Char added.

  Terry crooked a finger at Kim to get her to come closer. “I’ve been thinking that we may have to leave a detachment here, permanently based, maybe do three-month rotations,” he whispered conspiratorially.

  “Yes, sir!” his daughter exclaimed.

  “Relax there, hard charger. You’re the recon platoon. You don’t do guard duty.” Terry smiled. Kim looked disappointed at first, then realized what the colonel was saying. “That’s right. Mister Smith is on the run, and we’re going to hunt him down.”

  Kim punched her dad in the shoulder and walked away with her head held high.

  “Cory, are you going to join us?” Terry asked, although it wasn’t a question as he focused on Ramses.

  “Go on,” he told Cory. “I have a lot to do here.”

  Cordelia had listened to all the conversations and couldn’t imagine what would keep the platoon busy, but she knew her parents and they had the look that suggested they were going to get into trouble. She decided that her time would best be served with them.

  She kissed Ramses good-bye. Terry had to look away.

  “Now get this straight,” Cory started as soon as they were clear of the platoon. “No more beating the prisoners!”

  Char stopped to look at her daughter. “This is where your father and I significantly disagree. I say we cut its head off and be done with it. Terry says that it’s a prisoner of war and we have to afford it some simple courtesies.”

  “I’m open to compromise,” Terry started slowly as they walked toward the fisherman’s wharf. They would have to cross, climb, and descend numerous hills, but there was real traffic on the roads. Terry started waving a truck down. "I suggest we drop the general a thousand miles at sea. If he survives, we’ll find him and kill him right next time. If not, well then, we’ll have to assume it was his time.”

  Char agreed and Cory shook her head.

  “Fair enough,” Joseph said.

  A truck stopped, possibly because Terry was waving his pistol. The four climbed aboard, and the truck headed straight for South Beach, where the truck was to drop off its load of barely ripe vegetables and where it had been scheduled to pick up a load of imports.

  “Scheduled?” Terry asked the driver.

  “Sure, dude. When I was here yesterday, they penciled me into the slot,” the young man replied, shifting the standard transmission smoothly as he navigated the tight corners and steep hills.

  “There’s no telephones or radios?” Terry pressed.

  “There’s one radio, but that’s in the mayor’s house. Where are you from anyway?”

  “Not here,” Terry replied and refused to speak for the remainder of the drive.

  ***

  “This is a pretty sweet setup,” Timmons said, looking at the banded cables coming from the docked ship. The vacant expression on Sue’s face suggested she’d had as much engineering excitement as she could stomach. The wharf smelled of fish and fuel oil.

  Sue’s Werewolf olfactory glands were overwhelmed to the point of bursting.

  She finally looked at her mate. “Do I need to be here for this?” she asked.

  “I thought you wanted to take a greater interest in my work?” Timmons said defensively, wearing a hurt expression.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she replied, frowning. “Just like you don’t want to see my awe-inspiring project plans, I don’t want to see your mechanical bits. I’m going to go talk with those people who look like they’re somebody, at least in their own minds.”

  She gave Timmons a peck on the cheek and left him standing on the dock. Sue walked with a purpose—to get away from the smell and have something productive to do.

  Sue expected Char wanted them to stay together, but she knew her way around a group of men. She’d have them eating out of her hand in no time.

  The group of older men were taken aback at the approach of the blond beauty. She blinked her long eyelashes at them as she neared.

  “I say, can you help me understand how the port works?” she asked, smiling and looking lost.

  “Who are you and where’d you come from?” the oldest of the bunch asked. Someone cuffed him in the arm.

  The youngest man stepped forward. “My name is Barry and I’d be pleased to help you out.”

  The others worked to get close. She beamed at all of them. “Okay, Barry! You’re my new favorite. Tell me, how does it all work?”

  “He don’t know shit,” the old man threw out. “And what’s that other fellow doing out there?”

  “Ships enter the bay over there, past where the Golden Gate Bridge used to be, and we guide them in here to an open dock. We use these cranes to offload the cargo to that yard over there, while we load up our staged cargo from this yard over here. It’s mostly stuff comes in and food goes out. We trade with Japan, mainly, although there are a couple routes up and down the coast,” the young man said proudly.

  “Oh my!” Sue exclaimed, maintaining her act of the damsel in distress, while inside, she had a million questions. “I want to give everyone a chance. You, there. You look to be the most experienced of the bunch. Who determines what cargo is ordered, w
here it goes, and what gets sent out?”

  The old man narrowed his eyes skeptically at the young-looking woman batting her eyelashes at him.

  “City Council. They’ll be in that building over there.” He pointed with a gnarled finger. “They control all that stuff. Now it’s your turn. Where’d you come from?”

  “Little old me? New York City, of course!” she said in her heaviest New York accent. “I think it’s time to get down to business. Maybe you’ll introduce me to the members of this council.”

  She hooked an arm through the old man’s elbow and smiled graciously at the others as she led him away. Despite his gruff exterior, he didn’t mind besting the younger workers when it came to the fairer sex.

  Little did he know that Sue was ready to snap his neck if he deviated from the line on which they marched toward the City Council building, a stately structure that bordered the warehouses, work buildings, and docks. To Sue, it looked new and out of place.

  She shrugged it off. All that mattered was getting to the leadership and letting them know that the power would come back on, because Timmons was the best at what he did, and that there was a new sheriff in town.

  The old man settled into a jerky gait as if one leg worked differently from the other. She kept close, asking about the mundane, the ships, the buildings, the trucks, and the people.

  She was quickly convinced that she had found the one person in all of San Francisco who was unhappy with everything. He didn’t have a nice word to say about any of it, but Sue waded through the negative diatribes to find the kernels of fact. She couldn’t recommend the old guy as a tour guide, however, should San Francisco open up.

  She wondered if Terry and Char had opened the gates. She expected they had because of the steady stream of vehicles heading into the wharf area. The group of men that she had accosted had dispersed with her departure and gotten to work ensuring that the unloading and loading was efficiently done. There was little room on the wharf for discord.

  “How long has the wharf been busy like this?” Sue asked curiously.