Nomad Omnibus 03: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus)

by Craig Martelle

  “Looks like you’ve got some competition, young man,” Terry said in his colonel’s voice.

  “If Cory is going to join, I guess it won’t be a problem,” he replied softly.

  “Cory is the group’s healer,” Char told him. Her tone carried a sharp edge. “That means that she works separately from the warriors.”

  “That’s it! Into the water with him, and he stays there until he comes to his senses.” Terry nodded to his kids. Kim and Kae circled the small fire. Ramses backpedaled, but was way too slow.

  Kim and Kae seized Ramses’s arms while Auburn grabbed his legs. He tried to kick, but Marcie punched him in the stomach hard enough to make Terry wince. They lugged Ramses to the water’s edge and swung him back and forth until the count of three when they let go, launching him into the gentle waves.

  He flailed mightily as he flew through the air, but it didn’t change the outcome. He splashed down, going completely under before finding his footing and standing up, spluttering.

  Kim and Auburn, Kae and Marcie, and Terry and Char laughed. Ramses shoulders sagged in defeat and humiliation. Terry handed Mary Ellen to Char, balancing both the kids in her lap as she wondered what Terry was going to do.

  “Stand aside,” he ordered. He stomped past the two couples and went into the water.

  “Follow me,” he told Ramses. Terry continued into the lake until it was too deep to stand. He treaded water and waited. The young man wasn’t used to the water and struggled to stay afloat. Terry moved closer to shore so Ramses could stand.

  “The Force de Guerre is my baby. I established it to protect the people of New Boulder by creating a defensive boundary based on offensive action. What I’m saying is that the FDG has always been a preemptive strike force. To hit them before they hit us takes training, a god awful amount of training. We have to be faster and stronger than anyone we go up against, because we’re hitting them in their house, where they will fight harder to defend it. We have some incredible weaponry, but that is minor compared to the weapon of the mind. We build warriors in the FDG. Any one of them can operate independently and do what needs to be done to accomplish the mission. This is what you will be joining. There’s no maybe to it. Do you get me?”

  To his credit, Ramses didn’t answer right away.

  “I think I understand,” the young man finally replied.

  “I will treat you just like all the rest. You’ll be tired, sore, and hungry, just like everyone else. Kim and Kae have trained their whole lives for this. Follow their lead and you will be fine.” Terry reached his arm out of the water to offer his hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  Ramses took his hand and they shook firmly. Terry took it easy, not crushing the young man’s hand. The two started wading toward shore.

  Cory was standing there with her arms crossed. “So we’re swimming in our clothes now?” she said accusingly as she started to take her shirt off.

  “STOP!” Terry bellowed, his voice echoing off nearby buildings. “Get your damn shirt back on.”

  Terry hurried out of the water, grabbing his daughter’s elbow and spinning her toward the fire.

  “Let go, you big bully! I’m not a little kid anymore!”

  Terry hung his head. “I know, Cory. I know only too well.” He hugged his daughter partially from love, but mostly from the fact that he was dripping wet and it was her boyfriend’s fault.

  When he let go, he nodded and took a spot close to the fire where a new mess of fish and vegetables were cooking. Auburn had a hold of Clovis to keep the dog from snagging the new fare. Auburn was used to handling horses. He figured the dog wouldn’t be a problem.

  He was wrong. Clovis escaped, got body-blocked by Terry, chased by Mary Ellen, and shooed away by Kaeden, until Cory caught him on a high-speed pass.

  “Train that dog!” the family yelled in unison.

  ***

  “I think we’ve lost our boy,” Skippy told Butch. Gladys sat in a rocking chair in the corner of the two-bedroom home they’d been given when they joined Char’s pack.

  Butch didn’t answer. Gladys rocked casually.

  “I never thought I’d be a rocking chair person, but I’m finding that I like it,” Gladys said to no one in particular.

  Skippy waved dismissively at her. “I’m talking about something important!” he said louder than the last time.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Butch snarled. “He’s in good company. The alpha’s kids are in the same place, doing the same thing. Do you think they’d let their kids get hurt?”

  Skippy grumbled. They’d found the boy as a baby, abandoned in a place where he shouldn’t have been. They readily took him as their own since they weren’t able to have children. Very few Werewolves could.

  They’d been surprised to hear that Char had borne a pup, and with a human mate too.

  Mostly human.

  That wasn’t quite right either. Whatever he was, he wasn’t Were.

  His jealousy reeked and looked foul. Skippy scrunched his face as he wrestled with the complete uprooting of his family and having to answer to someone new after such a long time.

  The alpha was more like them than they cared to admit. Like Butch and Skippy, the alpha and her mate had adopted an orphan, then a second one.

  “You do what you have to do,” Skippy said after his conversation with himself.

  “They’ll teach the boy some good lessons, and if they start doing things we don’t like, we can talk with the alpha, discuss it with Char. That’s what the others in the pack said. She’s not an iron fist ruler. I think that cute Terry guy creates a balance like we’ve never seen from an alpha. This is a good thing, Skippy. We are going to be taken care of. We don’t have to catch or butcher what we’re going to eat, although if we want to, I think we can. What do you say we give them a chance?” Butch nudged her mate with an elbow and smiled.

  “How about we move that rocker to the front yard, so you can get some fresh air?” Skippy offered.

  “I won’t complain about that,” Gladys said, getting up and walking outside, leaving the rocking chair for the others to move. Although she looked old, she wasn’t an invalid. In Werewolf form, she was an incredible hunter, using her wisdom from centuries of experience to best her prey.

  She appreciated the deference and service of the younger Were as she reached the twilight of her life. Gladys waited outside as Butch held the door for Skippy to carry the chair out. He put it in the shade and Butch draped a rough blanket over it.

  Gladys worked her way into it, sighed, and casually rocked herself to sleep.

  “Shall we?” Skippy asked.

  “Shall we what?” Butch looked skeptically at her mate.

  “Check up on the young one. You know, see how training is going. Nothing nefarious,” Skippy replied.

  “If you get us on the wrong side of the alpha, I will hand you over so she can beat you stupid. Mark my words, you dumb fucker,” Butch said conversationally, her New York accent coming back strong in the presence of the other New York Werewolves.

  ***

  “I swear, you have to be the slowest prep cook I have ever seen!” Mayra stood with her hands on her hips, watching Mark carefully. Since his retirement from the FDG, he’d been working in the kitchen of Claire’s Diner to get closer to Mayra, but she’d put him at the bottom of the pile.

  He was not to be deterred.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a smile before turning his attention to chopping up the latest mountain of vegetables. They were supposed to be mostly cleaned up before arrival to minimize the amount of compostable material that needed to be hauled back out. But they were coming in fresh-picked and needed a great deal of work before they were ready to cook and serve.

  Mayra wasn’t complaining. From getting picked to being served was usually only a few hours.

  It also made preparing the menu a challenge. She talked with every single delivery driver to make sure she knew what the next delivery was supposed to
be. If any of the farmers stopped by for a meal, she interrogated them while feeding them the very best of anything she had available, with some extras for them to take back home.

  She understood that her relationship with the farmers and the ranchers was the key to making the diner work. The mayor, the FDG, and the residents of North Chicago counted on Mayra to get it right.

  Mayra casually walked around the well-used stainless steel prep table to lean over Mark’s shoulder. He chopped quickly, but stopped when she put one hand on his forearm and wrapped the other around his waist. She slid her long and delicate fingers down his arm until they rested lightly on his hand.

  “Like this, a rocking motion,” she whispered into his ear, guiding the knife as he pushed the kale underneath. She was slow and methodical, but it was quicker than how he was doing it. “You can speed up once you have everything well in hand.”

  The lump in Mark’s throat prevented him from speaking, so he just nodded. Goosebumps stood out on his weathered and scarred arms.

  Her lips brushed his ears. “Go slow to go fast.” As she moved away, her hand trailed across his butt cheeks. He jerked forward, slamming into the table and sending a pot to the floor, where it clattered to a rest.

  He looked up to catch the others hurriedly looking away.

  Mayra stopped and leaned her head over her shoulder toward Mark. He gazed at her as only those in love would. “How long must we dance before you cook dinner for me?” She walked away before he could answer.

  He watched her go. Not much longer, Mayra, he thought as the smile grew on his face. Mark turned back to his work to find blood dripping on the table. He’d sliced his finger at some point.

  “Dammit!” he blurted without looking up. He put pressure on it, then pulled a rag to wipe the drops, while looking for a dishrag to clean up the mess before chopping the rest of what remained.

  Mayra appeared with a cloth patch and a string, which was the post-WWDE version of a Band-Aid. After she wrapped it up and tied it tightly, Mark pulled her close and planted a kiss firmly on her lips. He held her that way for what seemed an eternity until he had to pull back to take a breath.

  She smiled at him. “You’re out of practice,” she said softly.

  “About thirty years’ worth,” he replied, realizing that he had been worrying more that she would reject him than he had stressed when he had gone into combat.

  Love was harder than war?

  “Make me dinner tonight and we’ll talk about the conditions of our partnership,” she said in a businesslike tone.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mark answered. He looked around quickly, but this time, the others didn’t look away. Two of them gave him a thumbs up.

  “And don’t ruin any more vegetables with your blood!” Mayra shouted, fixing the kitchen staff with one look. “Get back to work, you slackers. We can’t feed them happy thoughts. We’ll have a riot!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  North Chicago, FDG Training Grounds

  Boris looked at the newcomers, not sure which persona he needed to present to them. Kimber and Kaeden knew him well. They’d known him for twenty years, trained extensively with him. He knew Marcie, but she hadn’t participated in FDG training. Her parents had been against it.

  Terry and Char had buried too many bodies over the years. The Force de Guerre was a dangerous line of work. Necessary, but more deadly than an average day in North Chicago.

  Boris also knew Camilla. She looked young with Native American features, much like her mother, Kiwidinok, the horse master. Her older sister, Ayashe, was already in the Force.

  The lieutenant didn’t know the new guy, Ramses, but he’d heard that he was Cory’s boyfriend. The colonel hadn’t given any specific instructions regarding the young man, but Boris expected the colonel would hold the entire group to a higher standard because of the select nature of those within.

  They were a week behind the new group, but that time had been dedicated almost exclusively to physical conditioning, breaking their bodies down to build them back up again. It would last another week before the real team building would begin. He figured the five would catch up if they weren’t already in better shape.

  Boris looked over the five newcomers, not worried about their week-late start. The colonel’s kids were in exceptional shape already, as was Camilla. Ramses appeared to be fit. Boris was worried about Marcie. She was lean, but that didn’t mean she was conditioned.

  The colonel and major watched from the other side of the field. They didn’t want to interfere, but the training and buildup of the Force was Terry Henry’s number one priority. The colonel and major couldn’t recuse themselves, despite having their children in training.

  The colonel would be involved, as he had always been, not to micromanage but to set the emotional tone for what the FDG was to accomplish. His motivational speeches usually helped the warriors, new and old alike, over any hurdle.

  And he never asked his people to do things that he wouldn’t do himself. Boris thought that the colonel took too many risks and should ask the FDG to carry more of the load.

  Boris expected that to be an ongoing argument, where the colonel would make the final decision to maintain the status quo.

  “All right, you sorry asses!” Boris bellowed, looking at the five new recruits. “You’re a week behind! I need two laps out of you before you rate to stand next to the others.”

  Kim and Kae took off, hesitating when they realized the other three were still standing there. “Come on!” Kimber yelled at them. She was the oldest of the bunch and would set the pace. She was in her mid-thirties, then Kae, then Marcie. Cory and Ramses were in their twenties, while Camilla was barely seventeen and maybe one hundred pounds.

  As the smallest, she would have the hardest time when they started to load up on gear, but that wasn’t the lieutenant’s concern at the moment.

  “WELL?” he screamed, helping to add fire to their heels. Marcie, Ramses, and Camilla bolted after Kim and Kae. Once Marcie caught up, they put her between them, letting Ramses and Camilla fall into an easy pace behind.

  Kae tried to help by giving her his arm, but she glared at him. He pulled away with his sister to encourage her to speed up.

  “What the hell did I get myself into?” she panted before gritting her teeth and stretching her stride.

  “What are you looking at, you pack of candy-asses?” Boris yelled at the remaining thirty-seven recruits. “Bends and thrusts!”

  He watched them drop, kick their legs back, bring them forward, then stand up. “One, sir!” they yelled in unison.

  “Stop!” he ordered after they had only done one. “Those are too easy,” he clarified, gauging where the runners were on the long course. He needed to give them more time. Marcie was slowing them down.

  He put that thought out of his mind.

  “Burpees, eight-count body-builders. They’re all the same, kiddies. BEGIN!”

  They started over, drop, kick their legs back, do two push-ups, then pop back up. “One, sir!” they yelled, not quite as good as before.

  He let them get to ten before stopping them and starting them over for being out of sync.

  The newcomers had finished their first lap and were starting on the second. He checked his watch, one of the few that worked. Their time was twenty seconds better than the best time that the larger group had been able to manage.

  Maybe Marcie wasn’t slowing them down, but the others were so much faster.

  “Pace yourselves!” Boris yelled at the five as they ran by, nearly at a sprint, picking up speed for the new recruits.

  “Damn! I could have used you a week ago,” Boris muttered to himself.

  The recruits doing calisthenics stole glances at the group as they ran by. Some looked angry as they realized the newcomers were showing them up, others looked envious since the five made it look easy, and then there were the few men who looked at the women in a way that grated on Boris’s soul.

  He jumped down from his perch
and pulled them from the formation. He lined them up, four young men, and locked them at the position of attention.

  “What the fuck do you think you were looking at?” he growled. Three looked afraid. One smiled.

  “Recruits. You are all recruits together. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir!” they shouted automatically. The smiler continued.

  “What are you smiling at?” Boris demanded.

  “Nothing, sir,” the man replied.

  “Name.”

  “Phineas T. Rye, sir!” the young man belted out.

  “Who in the fuck would name their kid that? I know, someone who didn’t like the little bastard. I’m with your parents. I don’t like you, either. And if you ever look at female recruits like that again, I will rip out your eyeballs and let them use you for a punching bag. Now drop and give me twenty!”

  Phineas didn’t seem to care about the threat. He kept smiling as he did twenty pushups and popped back to the position of attention.

  “Get out of my face,” Boris commanded in a low and dangerous voice. He waved Sergeant Nickles over as the recruits ran back to the main formation.

  “Keep an eye on that little fucker,” the lieutenant whispered. “We can’t let him tear this unit apart. He’s going to do something, and when he does, I will string him up by his balls.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll pass the word,” Nickles saluted and walked toward the back of the formation, never taking his eyes from one Phineas T. Rye.

  ***

  “What do you think that was about?” Terry asked.

  “Trainee shit,” Char said with a shrug. Cory had joined them, watching intently, but she wasn’t looking at the main formation. There was only one group that held her interest.

  “I’ll find out later,” Terry replied. He heard someone walking up behind him. He turned to find Felicity there.

  “Mayor! What brings you out here?” He knew, but that was his ham-handed attempt at making small talk.

  “God damn you, TH!” she started. Terry thought he saw flames in her hair, but chalked that up to the morning sun. “My baby is down there because of you. She’s risking her life when she and her husband need to be at home with my grandchildren.”