MISSION VERITAS (Black Saber Novels Book 1)

by John Murphy

  “Killian?”

  He turned to see Goreman with her face shield up. “I wanted to thank you for saving me.” Her penetrating blue eyes bored into him. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”

  He lifted his face shield. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “I mean, I was kind of scared when you cut Pima’s oxygen tube and all. But now I see you’re not crazy. You’re really good—a good fighter. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  Her face was gorgeous despite the dirt and sweat, and his heart raced a bit just looking at her.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he said, trying to suppress his attraction. He’d never had much praise for his skills, nor had he had much flirtatious attention, especially from a beautiful woman. Flashes of seeing Goreman nude after the showers flew through his mind. He suppressed the vision by thinking of the jackals. He had to keep focused. He swallowed awkwardly.

  “Well, I’m glad you knew what to do. You saved us all.” Her eyes flitted away, then back to meet his.

  He shrugged. “Combat mission, you know.” He turned away and saw Kerrington shooting daggers with his eyes. Killian returned his stare with a quizzical look. Why was Kerrington pissed at him this time? Then he looked at Goreman. Of course. Kerrington must see him as competition for her attention. He would have to take Kerrington aside and tell him that he wasn’t interested in her. Sure, she was incredibly hot, but for Killian, completing the mission was everything.

  As he scanned the valley beneath the cliff, another thought occurred to him. The way in which he’d fought off the jackals might make it seem he had been trying to be the hero. The idea was stupid. There’s no glory in violence, only survival—fighting back, his vocation.

  Like Gahn, Kerrington probably couldn’t be convinced otherwise, regardless of Killian’s intent.

  Killian felt a nervous shudder crawl up his spine. The more threatened Kerrington felt, the more likely he’d retaliate at some point.

  Sowell’s voice interrupted Killian’s thoughts. “Maybe we could borrow some of that six hours, rest up, and recover. What do you think, Kerrington?”

  Kerrington nodded. “Yeah, let’s rest up. Get close to the side of the cliff and away from danger.”

  Sowell nodded at Vasquez. “Scout up ahead to look for threats. Spalding, scout behind us. Make sure nothing’s following us.”

  “Yeah,” Kerrington said. “Check it out and let’s calm down. Maybe take thirty minutes.”

  They lined up along the base of the cliff, removed their packs and helmets, and sat with their backs against the wall.

  Sowell walked up and down the line. “You guys okay? Any bleeding or other injuries?”

  The adrenaline crash and arduous climb had taken their toll—each candidate felt lethargic. The candidates acknowledged Sowell with a lazy thumbs-up.

  Sowell sat next to Killian.

  This was a good sign on many levels.

  Killian saw an opportunity to build an alliance. He turned to Sowell. “You’re doing a good job, man.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I can see how you’re helping keep things together. You’ve got a good way about you.”

  Sowell worked himself into a more comfortable position. “Thanks, man. You, too! You seem to be the real deal…I mean, with the dogs back there.”

  Killian paused a moment.

  “Listen,” he said, “those things I said happened in Bangkok…Maybe we could keep that between us.”

  Sowell gave a quick nod. He said in a low voice, “Whatever kind of crazy shit you went through…Like Goreman said, I’m just glad you’re on our side.” He grinned and punched Killian’s armor.

  It wasn’t exactly an agreement or a promise of secrecy. At the risk of pushing the point further, Killian would take it.

  * * *

  Over the next half hour, a few of the candidates dozed. Others shifted around as they tried to get comfortable.

  “Linda! Linda!” Vasquez muttered in his sleep.

  Mitchell nudged him. “Hey! You’re dreaming.”

  “What?” Vasquez sat up.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” Mitchell said. “I thought you might be having a bad dream about your sister or something.”

  Vasquez rubbed his eyes. “Oh, shit. Thanks.”

  Sowell sat up. “We should probably get moving.”

  The others got to their feet.

  Spalding yawned. “Can’t we hang here a little longer?”

  “No can do, man,” Sowell said. “We’re already behind schedule. We can rest up more in the cave, but we’ll be cutting that short, too.”

  Kerrington stood up. “Hey, who died and left you boss? I’m the one giving directions here.”

  “Hey, no problem, Stiles.” Sowell held his hands up. “I thought you might need some recovery time from the attack. Just picking up the slack, letting you have a little time to wake up.”

  “Are you saying I’m slacking off?” Kerrington pressed.

  “Naw, man! We’re all pretty wigged out by the attack.”

  “What, now you’re saying I’m wigged out? Why don’t you just announce that you’re seizing control while you’re at it?”

  “Calm down, you yappy little dog,” Vasquez said.

  Kerrington whirled toward him. “What did you call me?”

  “You’re a friggin’ yappy little dog, all bark and no bite.”

  Kerrington lunged at Vasquez, but Sowell got in between.

  “Let him go, man. He thinks he’s hot shit with his kung fu kicks. Bring it, little man,” Vasquez taunted.

  “Calm down, both of you,” Sowell said. “The atmosphere is getting to us again. It’s disrupting our sensibilities.”

  “There’s nothing sensible about him,” Vasquez said. “Just a lot of stupid barking.”

  Kerrington pushed back. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

  “Come on, little man. You gonna hump my leg?”

  Kerrington tried to dodge around, but Sowell grabbed him.

  “Grow up, Vasquez,” Sowell said. “We’ve got a mission to complete.”

  Killian watched from several feet away, mildly amused. He knew post-firefight behaviors well: an exhausted collapse, a resurgence of energy, and an explosion of pent-up animosity.

  “Stiles!” Goreman said. “Stiles!”

  Kerrington turned to her. “What?”

  “Stiles, we’re trying to help. No one wants to take your position as leader.”

  Kerrington looked at her, still angry, but with the air of a chastened child.

  “We all want to get on with the mission,” Goreman said. “I’d hate to see you ruin your chance of getting into Black Saber. You deserve to lead the team, not lose your position because of name calling or fighting your own team.”

  Kerrington’s breathing slowed.

  “Look at you,” she said sympathetically. “You’re covered in blood from battling those wild dogs. Let me help you.”

  She began wiping the splatters of blood on his armor. It only smeared them more, but Kerrington watched her hands move, as if he were in a trance.

  Holy shit!

  Killian had never seen anything like this. It was as if Goreman cast a spell over Kerrington. Kerrington would have to be aware of that, too. Killian looked at the others and saw that they were also amazed at Goreman’s powers to quell Kerrington’s hostility.

  In a few moments, the tension in the group was sufficiently diffused. The candidates put on their packs and stretched to work out the kinks from their aching bodies. Mitchell spit on her face shield in an attempt to clear the blood and the mud. Killian put on his helmet.

  Vasquez noticed Tucker’s pack and helmet lying abandoned on the ground. He looked around. “Hey, where the hell is ginger?”

  “What?” Sowell looke
d around in alarm.

  “Where’s Tucker?” Vasquez asked.

  They each looked around. Killian grabbed his rifle and approached the edge of the shelf, looking for a body below.

  “Tucker!” Vasquez shouted.

  The others called out as well.

  “Did anyone see Tucker leave?” Sowell asked.

  No one replied.

  “Not down here,” Killian said from the edge.

  “Tucker!” Dohrn went back down the trail a few yards.

  Spalding went ahead. “Here he is! He’s got something!”

  Tucker appeared around the corner carrying three objects the size of footballs.

  “Check this out! I found some eggs we can eat!”

  Mitchell froze, horrified. “What are you doing?”

  Tucker looked amused. “Look what I—”

  A loud swoosh came abruptly from below the cliff’s edge, followed by a heavy beat of wings. An angry reptilian head screeched. Large talons wrapped around Tucker’s waist and jerked him off the cliff. Tucker dropped the eggs as his body was lifted up. He screamed.

  The raptor’s head reached down to its talons and tore at its prey.

  Blood sprayed through the air and splattered on the rocks below. Several candidates dove for the ground.

  Tucker’s screaming stopped.

  Blood and intestines poured from his midsection.

  Killian flipped his plasma to kill mode, aimed at the raptor’s head, and squeezed the trigger. A bolt of red energy blew the raptor’s head apart.

  Kerrington looked up in time to see Tucker’s body drop on the shelf, followed by the raptor’s corpse as it struck the shelf, then tumbled off the edge.

  “Tucker!” Mitchell raced over to Tucker’s freakishly twisted body and cradled his head on her lap.

  Blood poured from Tucker’s mouth as his eyes darted back and forth in shock and bewilderment. He looked at Mitchell and coughed, spraying her face and hair with gobs of blood. Then his eyes rolled up and his body went limp.

  The other candidates gathered around and looked on in horror. Only Killian hung back.

  “Is he dead?” Goreman whimpered.

  “You killed Tucker, you idiot!” Kerrington’s eyes were wild. He moved toward Killian. “You killed Tucker!”

  Killian braced for an attack. He would knock Kerrington down if necessary, but he would only use the plasma if Kerrington grabbed one. He flipped his rifle to safe.

  Sowell jumped between them. “The raptor killed Tucker! Killian killed the raptor!”

  Kerrington kept his eyes locked on Killian, still struggling to get past Sowell. “Tucker could have been saved!”

  Sowell struggled to hold back Kerrington. “Are you kidding? The raptor was flying away with Tucker. I heard it crush him as soon as it snatched him up.”

  Vasquez helped to restrain Kerrington. “His guts were coming out. Tucker was a goner no matter what! At least the raptor is dead and won’t kill any more of us.”

  Goreman sobbed openly.

  Mitchell jumped up and grabbed the comm unit from Kerrington’s pack. She fumbled a bit, then shouted into the mic, “Blue Orchid, Blue Orchid, Blue Orchid. This is Mission Veritas. We are in serious trouble!”

  She continued her futile attempts to hail Blue Orchid. No response.

  Kerrington snatched the comm unit away from her. “Blue Orchid, we’ve got to get that shuttle down here, now! We have a fatality. We have to suspend the mission. Over!”

  “They aren’t going to come, Kerrington!” Sowell said.

  Vasquez turned to Sowell. “We have to try. We’ve got to do something for Tucker!”

  “It’s too late. He’s dead!”

  “We’ve got to do something,” Dohrn shrieked. “We can’t leave him here!”

  Sowell got in her face. “We’ve got to finish the mission! We can’t give up now!”

  Kerrington stopped his pointless attempt to reach the shuttle. “This mission is over, Sowell! We’ve got to get Tucker’s body back to Blue Orchid at least!”

  Killian backed away from the ongoing confrontation and looked up at the open sky. “Take cover! Take cover!”

  Before the others could figure out what Killian was shouting about, dozens of scavengers swooped in. They started a feeding frenzy on Tucker as well as the raptor on the rocks below. Other scavengers, unable to get in on the carcasses, swooped and grabbed at the candidates.

  The screeching was overwhelming. The candidates backed up as close as they could to the base of the cliff.

  Killian stood away from the group and fired into the growing morass of scavengers. Some exploded in a burst of blood. Others fell violently to the ground. The melee only attracted more scavengers.

  Sowell and Vasquez fended off the clutching talons and grabbed their plasma rifles, firing into the black cloud of flailing wings. At first, their rifles were set on stun. The rifles emitted blue bolts of plasma energy that did little more than knock the scavengers out of the air. Once Sowell and Vasquez realized this, they switched their rifles to kill.

  The swarm had already begun to disperse by the time Kerrington and Spalding joined in the fight.

  Killian fired at the remaining scavengers devouring Tucker, dispatching them in bursts of gore. The candidates approached the edge of the cliff and saw a sickeningly turbulent mass of scavengers fighting for their share of the dead raptor below. The candidates opened fire. Blood and guts burst and splattered like a violently bubbling cauldron. Survival instinct caused many of the birds to retreat in frustrated screeches, leaving the majority of the carcasses for later.

  The candidates stared at the mess of blood and raptor body parts. Goreman cowered and sobbed against the cliff wall. Dohrn tried to comfort her, but she was sobbing as well.

  All that was left of Tucker was an arm and what appeared to be his bloody head.

  “Spalding, go get his remains,” Kerrington said.

  Spalding looked at him with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. The others looked at Kerrington with similar expressions.

  Before Kerrington could repeat his order, two more scavengers swooped in and grabbed the arm and head and flew off. Another swooped in, but Killian fired at it. The scavenger burst, and meat fragments splattered onto the ledge.

  The candidates stared at the scene in mute horror.

  Killian grabbed the explosive device and said, “We should go.”

  CHAPTER 22

  25 Hours to Extraction

  THE REMAINING EIGHT CANDIDATES found the designated cavern entrance half an hour away. The sun beat relentlessly as the candidates traversed the cliff base. The entrance to the cavern was a cool blessing.

  Not far into the cavern, it became chilly and damp. The candidates turned on their light sticks but kept them sheathed in their packs. The walls were colorful, with stalactites and stalagmites that had been painted over the centuries with green oxidized copper, which melted into ambers and reds. Everything glistened with moisture.

  The candidates walked without talking, but the noise emitted by their gear echoed loudly.

  They encountered a pool of water fed by a wide stream running through the cavern. After consulting her nav tablet, Mitchell gave it the okay. Rainwater from the surface had been sufficiently filtered by seeping through the mountainside.

  The candidates removed their helmets and packs and lay on their bellies, sucking water noisily from cupped hands. It had been almost twelve hours since they’d last had water. They drank until their stomachs distended. Once sated, they washed the blood and dried mud off their gear and faces.

  Everyone was somber. The extreme change of environment made the death of Tucker seem like an awful nightmare. However, his absence was proof that it was all too real.

  Kerrington sat apart from the group, staring at the cavern floor stretching
into the darkness.

  Sowell approached cautiously and sat six feet away. Sensing that Kerrington was bearing more distress than the others, Sowell said nothing for a few minutes, affording Kerrington the opportunity to speak first if he wanted.

  When nothing came, Sowell said, “I know Tucker getting killed is pretty hard to deal with. But is there anything you want to unload on me?”

  “Like what, an apology?” Kerrington’s voice was bitter.

  “No, no, not at all. I just want to help out if you need to vent.”

  Kerrington remained silent, fidgeting with the mud that was drying on his hands. Finally, he looked at Sowell. “Maybe you should take over.”

  Sowell shook his head. “Naw, I shouldn’t. You can do this, man.”

  “No. I’ve been fucking up all over the place.”

  “Not really, when you think about it. None of the—mishaps, we’ll say—were anyone’s fault. No one is blaming you for Tucker or Benson or anything. This is Veritas, man. If anyone was gonna blame you, they’d come right out and say it.”

  Kerrington snorted. “Yeah, Veritas. The truth! The truth is I’ve been preparing to be a leader all my life, it seems. And the first time I get put in charge of a military operation, I fuck it up. Damn it! One of my team is already dead, another is MIA, and it hasn’t even been three days! And we aren’t even fighting an enemy!”

  “Look, that’s true, but none of it was your fault.” Sowell tried to keep the discussion from being overheard. “The truth is, you’ve been doing fine as a leader. Sure, you’re tough, probably a bit more than necessary. But you haven’t screwed anything up. They told us this place could be deadly. It was our own naïveté to think it would be a walk in the park.”

  “Yeah, well, Tucker was killed under my command, not yours.”

  “That’s true, but you can’t hand this off to me just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”