by Laer Carroll
The ambush site was still and dark. No one was near. None of the five aircraft above her gave even her super-senses any clue they were there.
She spoke quietly into her throat-mounted phone.
"Down safe. No one around. I'm doing a walk around."
To her eyes the crescent moon and the stars gave enough light to make the area as bright as if lit by two full moons. She spiraled in to the death ground, looking down and around. In the center she knelt near some blood stains and sniffed. On her hands and knees she navigated the site, identifying the dead and wounded and putting them out of her mind.
"At least thirteen of the enemy were here. Seven of them shed blood, one of them a lot. Our people did not go without putting up stiff resistance."
Somewhere Anna Prince listened in. Sasha knew this as if the woman was right beside her.
"Your lieutenant was a medium-height blond with a heavy build, little fat. He was wounded. I can't tell how bad."
Sasha spiraled out of the site, still on hands and knees. She located the three paths taken by the enemy when they left the site.
"One of the exit groups took a very wounded man with them, one of theirs. A second took the Colonel. The third took the lieutenant. He was wounded, but the blood is not arterial. I'm following the lieutenant. I hope to find him alive."
The shoulder-high and higher brush and small trees was denser away from the ambush site, which likely had been picked because it was clearer. Perhaps the Bluebird squad had stopped there for a rest.
Sasha said no more. Something was rising within her as she moved through the night. The darkness seemed to seep into her, was welcomed by the something. Bushes and trees seemed to stand out of her way, leaving behind leaves and limber limbs which caressed her skin.
Joy rose into her breast. She quickened her pace, began to jog, began to run. Like a beast born to the dense forest she raced all out, weaving and dancing around heavy obstacles and sometime through light ones.
A timeless time later she came upon the lieutenant. She slowed, let humanity into herself again.
He was lying curled on his side. One hand which once had clutched a flat canteen was now lax .
Sasha approached cautiously, remembering the possibility of booby traps.
There were none distant from the man. Closer, she sniffed the canteen. It was indeed empty but once had held water. There was no trip wire attached to it or to his hand. No explosive or flammable or poison was inside it.
Ever so gently she touched the man's throat, read his vital signs. He was alive, breath shallow, blood pressure low, heart beat erratic. Under him through his body she sensed a hard object. The likely booby trap. Was there another?
Sasha sent her esoteric senses through his entire body and part way into the organic parts of his clothing and gear. No other trap revealed itself.
The—grenade?—did yield some impressions to Sasha transmitted through the man's body. Carefully she slid her hand under him, deforming her hand as thin as her palm and finger bones would let her. Carefully she surrounded the grenade with her hand, the flesh flowing to completely enfold it, felt the loose release lever, tightened her grip upon it so that it could not spring open, carefully withdrew the grenade.
The grenade latch pin was nowhere near. The grenade could not be made safe. She flung it far away, her immense strength sending it more than a hundred feet into the thick forest about her before it exploded. Most of its fragments were absorbed by the forest. None of them came near Sasha and the man on the ground.
Gently she lifted him and repositioned him several yards away in a clearer area. At the same time she had moved part of her consciousness inside him and was directing his body in repairs.
His heartbeat steadied, his blood pressure rose toward normal, his breathing became deeper. She deadened his pain, put him into a deep sleep, straightened his body .
"Ramsay is alive. I've disposed of a booby trap, have found no others. I've given him first aid and think he will recover. Get an evac unit down here soonest. Home on my signal. I'll stay here until you arrive. Then I'm gone to intercept the Colonel."
It was only a few minutes until one of the escort craft occulted the stars overhead and drifted near the ground. The hissing of its jet engines decreased, became almost quiet as the craft rested most of its weight on its paramagnetic ground cushion. Under its sharp nose a ramp whined down to near the ground and a pair of soldiers came warily down it, their night-scope-enhanced eyes and M5s scanning the darkness. Moments later a quartet of medics dashed down the ramp and converged on Sasha as flood lights came on to illuminate the scene.
"I've cleared him of traps, given first aid, and moved him to a better place. See you."
With that Sasha Canaro vanished like a ghost into the forest.
Almost an hour later she picked up the trail over which Adrian Storm Cloud had been taken. To even experienced human eyes (if they could have seen in the dark) it would looked like nothing more than an animal trail. The insurgents had left no marks on the vegetation or debris on the ground, even tracks.
But Storm Cloud had left clues. He had clutched at bushes and furtively crushed leaves, leaned on tree trunks, once fell to the ground and rolled on the grass to rise again. All of these Sasha scented.
Had he hoped or guessed she would look for him? He knew of her Bloodhound reputation with the New York Metro police and FBI .
Sasha proceeded cautiously in case a scout had been left on the back trail. Once she was convinced no one was around she keyed her throat microphone.
"I've picked up the Colonel's trail. There's no blood sign. Please have my recon plane shadow me and warn if someone is ahead. I'm going to start moving fast away from the trail."
"Roger that. We've been doing that. You sure as Hell move fast when you want to."
Of course they had been tracking her progress. In her focus on finding the missing men she had lost sight of that. Well, her fast movement in the forest would only add to her reputation as one of the Mystic Warriors of High-Plains Indian folklore and of the fantasy movies which had been made about them.
It was nearly another hour before Sasha began to find signs that she was approaching a camp or village. Instead of reporting that fact with her voice she tapped the throat mike several times to alert her listeners to something unusual happening at her end.
"Something happening down there, Agent? We see no other activity near you. Click twice if something is happening."
Sasha tapped the throat mike twice.
"Understood. We're bracketing your location with our assault craft. And the pilot of your recon plane says she wants to talk to you in a minute or two."
Sasha carefully began circling the camp. A quarter of the way around the camp she heard the voice of the pilot who was controlling Sasha's personal bat plane.
"OK, Agent. I'm getting the hang of some of this craft's surveill tech. The bad guys have some serious cover but I'm beginning to get some detail. The biggest is that there's a road leading away from the camp. I don't see any evidence that they have some scouts out but I can't be sure of that. I'll keep working, OK?"
Sasha tapped her throat mike twice for a Yes, not happy that Storm Cloud might have been trucked away from the camp/village.
A little while later she came across the road. It was dirt and grass but had been used enough to keep small bushes down. Alarmingly, there was a faint odor of recently kicked-up dust.
She crossed the road, cautiously because she could be seen both ways for some distance despite the darkness. She had changed her brown skin very dark brown, but could do nothing about the grey bra and shorts. Silently she slipped into the surrounding forest and circled back nearly to her starting point.
Having detected no one outside the camp who could hear her she spoke quietly.
"I'm almost back to where I began. I detect no one outside the camp. I did smell some dust in the air on the road. Storm Cloud may have been taken away. Please deploy recon craft 2 and 3 to surv
eil the road and where it leads."
"Roger that, Agent. Do you want for us to get ready to launch a strike from the assault craft?"
"Roger that. Hold off unless you notice gun-fire in the village. I'm going to infiltrate and see if I can find Storm Cloud. If I do I'll guard him from being killed and let you take the village."
"Roger that. Be careful you don't just give them one more of our people."
The brush at the edge of the camp had been kept naturally thick. Above in the trees the insurgents had strung a motley collection of nets and mottled green plastic. Further in they had begun to cut away some of the brush. A little further in some tents had been erected. From within came snores and other sleep sounds.
The center of the village contained one-story wooden houses. The roofs were thatch or wood. She was sure they were painted green so even if the nets and tarps overhead decayed or were blown down aircraft would not notice anything in the dense forest of this area. Even if the aircraft were flying low she knew from personal experience that the pilots would be looking far ahead not down.
Sasha's nose told her that all the sleepers so far had been men. In the center, however, she could smell some women and children.
What did it take for a woman to marry a Muslim insurgent? The local brands of Islam were more tolerant of women than in some areas of the world, but women here were still not held in high regard. Were the women forced to marry? Or did they attach themselves emotionally to those around them and willingly have sex and children with the men?
There were four larger buildings at the center of the village, arranged in a square with a village green in the center. From their odors the ghost in their midst guessed they were a dorm for the higher-rank soldiers, an administrative building, an armory, and a prison.
She drifted around the latter building. One set of windows were barred, but most were too small for any but children to pass through. She scented two older men, a middle-aged one, and young women, perhaps two dozen. No Storm Cloud.
Sharp disappointment twisted her insides. He had been taken away. Or maybe killed and thrown in some grave like garbage.
Rage replaced disappointment, hot inside her veins. Her body shivered, wanting to change into some horrible beast which would kill and kill and kill. She even felt a few physical changes before she washed her emotions in cold.
Her mind helped. They had not killed Adrian earlier, away from their home. And he was a valuable prisoner, useful for ransom and interrogation. He was on the truck moving further away from her every minute.
She cut back on the impatience this thought brought, became an ice-cold killing machine.
Protect the prisoners, capture the village, wring truth from those left alive—that must be the plan.
She strode to the back door of the prison, like the front door locked from the outside. She took hold of the simple knob and twisted. Her immense strength snapped its insides as if it were made of paper.
She eased the door opened and slipped inside, closing it behind her. She was in some kind of storage area. Another door, unlocked, led to a kitchen. Odors of food prepared and eaten smote her. She eased her olfactory sense down from hyper-sensitivity.
Inside her throat an organ began to form as she wondered how to wake the occupants without causing noise. When she noticed what was happening she nodded at the wisdom of her body. Best to ensure the sleepers did not awaken. She triggered the organ.
With each exhalation an organic chemical began to permeate the air. She eased open another interior door, breathed out into the room, waited a minute or so. She slid into the room, surveyed it. Even to her enhanced eyes it was dim. But another change began. Her eyes saw further and further into the infrared. She had done this before but the change had worked slowly. Now it was quick.
The room contained several low beds. On them were the three men and several older women. The middle-aged man had been badly beaten.
Sasha touched him briefly, injected him with microscopic messengers easing him further into sleep and enhancing his healing ability. She quickly repeated this with the other occupants, noticing in passing that two of the women had been raped and injecting them with additional healing, one for their psyches. She also made sure none would have children with their rapists.
In a larger room were younger women. All but two had been raped. The two youngest were girls barely reaching adolescence. She had no doubt what their fate would soon have been without her.
Rage almost got away from her at the thought.
When everyone in the house was so soundly asleep only time or Sasha could awaken them she spoke into her throat microphone. The signal had no trouble penetrating the wooden roof and forest canopy.
"I've secured the prisoners. They'll cause no problems when you attack. Storm Cloud is not here."
Captain Ishbel, riding in one of the attack aircraft, acknowledged her comment.
"Begin the attack, if you please, Captain. Keep alert for fire from my location. If anybody targets us I'm going to take them out."
"Roger that, Agent. I'll also assign a squad to aid you."
Sasha eased open the front door and peered out, only enough of her showing to see the village square.
Minutes passed. Then a banshee shriek and what seemed like lightning struck the armory. It exploded into ferocious white fire. No insurgents would be arming themselves from that.
Hastily Sasha shut the door. Debris tinkled and thudded on the other side.
She looked around. None of the sleepers had awakened.
The attack craft must have already been deployed near the village. Minutes later there was the sound of weapons firing from two directions, not quite opposite. Good; that meant less chances of her comrades shooting each other.
Going from window to window Sasha kept apprised of the attack. Once two men rushed from a building with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. They loaded it and began to raise it to fire at her building. She put a three-bullet burst in each one's head, then targeted the fallen launcher. At her third burst the grenade inside exploded. Then the grenades inside the nearby satchel of more grenades blew as well. One corner of the (admin?) building was smashed and collapsed, leaving the roof at a crazy angle.
The firing quickly reached a crescendo and began to die away. Around one of the buildings a squad of Bluebird soldiers peered. At the same time Sasha's phone came alive.
"Agent, we have your building in sight. Do you need immediate assistance?"
"Negative. I just took care of a couple of would-be hostage killers with an RPG launcher. But I'd appreciate a few helpers to free me up."
"Roger that."
A minute later the squad she had seen earlier began to advance toward her. Two soldiers covered the two forward quadrants, M5s and eyes scanning the fire-lit scene, and two others covered the two rear quadrants. Two others in the center scanned high in case someone tried to shoot at them from the low rooftops.
Someone tried that. He was cut down by fire from two directions the instant he stood up and tried to aim.
Sasha swung the door to her building wide and showed herself just long enough to beckon the squad inside, being careful to keep her M5 lowered to prevent reflexes from targeting her.
Only three of the six came inside. The other three remained outside, scanning everything they could see.
The sergeant in charge of the squad looked around the room, shaking his head.
"They're still sleeping? Or—you did something to them?"
"Correct. They'll start waking up in an hour or two."
"What the Hell did you do.... Is this some kind of harem?"
"Good-looking women, Sarge," said one of the soldiers. "Guess they were kidnapped or something. Look, over there. How old are they?! Ten?!"
"I want to puke. You two, go look out the back and see if you can find some of these animals to blow away."
Sasha said, "I'm going to see if I can capture someone in the admin building to interrogate."
"Take
Johnson out front to keep you company. That'll help keep our guys from targeting you, give you some backup. I'll call in your new position, let everyone know you're on the move."
"Thanks."
Outside Sasha attached Corporal Johnson to her and told him to stay behind her. Then she began to trot toward the building she had guessed was the administrative center. The collapsed corner looked like a good entrance.
Nearing it she went to slow time and extended her senses as much as she could. Sounds, scents, sensations of air flowing against her face and body, all assaulted her. She withstood the pain, part of the price of hyper-alertness.
She detected two men inside, partly by guess-work, partly by her hyper-senses. Looking back at the corporal she pointed inside, turned her hand up to indicate two men with two fingers. She hoped he would understand her meaning; she did not know the gestural short-hand soldiers used to communicate silently.
Sasha racked her M5 on her back, checked the two machine pistols holstered on her thighs to be sure they were still set to the rarely-used single-shot mode. More often they were used in a three-shot, seven-shot, and burst mode, when they kept firing as long as the trigger was held down. But Sasha could use it like a precision target pistol. She holstered one, hefted the other to a ready position.
She ducked under the tilted roof and entered the building in the hole blasted in it. Moving in slow time she was able to blow the rifles out of the hands of the two men within, piercing one hand and breaking the other because he had a finger within the trigger guard.
Passing by them she tapped them hard on their heads, seeming to knock them out with concussions but actually and more gently putting them to sleep by injecting them with her biological micro-messengers. Then she raced further into the building, not caring if the hand-holed man behind her died from blood loss despite the get-well messengers she had injected into him.
