Smith looked at his comm, and scrolled down to the contact information. He chuckled. "Indeed, I know this gentleman. A very good student who took a couple of my classes, though he wasn't attached to our department. I told him at the time he should have considered a minor in Geophysics, at least. But he was an historian and was already minoring in a couple of other areas, can't recall which ones at this remove. I shall contact him as soon as I get home."
Fox nodded. "Good! He'll be expecting your call. He's another one of our, hmm, I guess I should call him a 'corpsman'. I've known him for years; he did a stint in the SFM and decided to get out and go back to school, I think he was thinking he'd come back after graduation and try for officer, but he never did." He winked. "Marriage can change a man, you know."
Smith chuckled. "Indeed. Well, I feel I have taken enough of your time, and aggravation, and I should probably debark and go back to work; I'm sure that's Dr. Bisset's opinion, anyway. Too bad he doesn't have the authority to order me around; the university sent me here primarily to keep an eye on him."
"Does he know that?" asked Ariela.
"I believe he suspects it, but he was never told in so many words."
"Hmm." Ariela raised an eyebrow. "Be careful, Dr. Smith. I've played the academic game before, and the knives can be swift and sharp."
Smith grinned, evilly. "Oh, Colonel Wolff, please don't let this mild-mannered exterior and demeanor fool you. Many years of practice in the playing grounds of the university have honed me into a deadly stilettoist. I've placed my blades many times for effect."
He rose, then, bowed slightly to Ariela, turned, and made jauntily for the airlock, into which he disappeared. They heard the lock cycle and close behind him.
"NSA," said Delaney, positively. "That guy is not just an ordinary professor. If he's not NSA, he's CIA, or maybe even DIA. And he's not here because the university sent him; he's here because the agency he moonlights for told the university to send him."
"Not SFMID?"
"Nope, or I'd know it," Delaney replied. "Though I might just send a message to Grumpaw and see what he knows about Dr. Smith. But I doubt he's SFM, he doesn't have the moves for it."
"Moves can be unlearned," noted Fox.
"I don't think so; there's always something left over that doesn't smooth out," said Delaney. "Believe me, I've done enough undercover to know. Every time I went out, I'd worry I'd make some dumb move and tip off my tango that I was more than I seemed." She shook her head. "If he's military, he's really hiding it well. I'm seriously impressed if that's the case, and I'm damn hard to impress when it comes to spy stuff."
"Whatever," shrugged Ariela. "We have more important fish to fry. Is Harb outside?"
"Yes, he's with the teams."
"I need you to bring him in, we have something else to discuss."
"Okay." Delaney rose and followed Smith out the airlock.
Fox looked at his wife. "What's up, Ari?"
Ariela sighed. "The mullah, with whom we now have cough impeccable cough relations, gave me an intelligence briefing of a sort. He said despite his Council's ruling, there are hardcores who have sworn to end this project. So there's going to be trouble out here, eventually. And I want Harb and his teams to go into Jadida and snoop around."
"Oh," laughed Fox. "That'll piss Delaney off, since she's not supposed to do field work anymore."
Ariela looked at him, askance. "What makes you think I'm going to tell her to stay out of it?" she asked. "She's our best operative on al-Saḥra'. I fully expect her to direct the operation, along with Harb, even if she doesn't actually get her hands dirty. And she shouldn't get her hands dirty – that's what she's got Harb and the other two team leads for."
The airlock banged, and Delaney entered, followed by Harbinger. "Shit, it's hot out there," declared Delaney. "I don't know how they do it."
"Same way you used to do it," Harbinger teased her. "Strong backs, weak minds."
"Grr," growled Delaney, though she was grinning.
"Major Fox," said Ariela, seriously, "and Captain Harbinger, please have a seat."
The two glanced at each other, then sat in the seats indicated.
"I have a mission for FTSA," said Ariela, "which you may feel free to decline, at which point I will rotate back to Earth, call Maj. Gen. von Barronov, and have him issue orders for you to do it. It is an SFMID job and it is outside of my chain of command; but it needs to be done and I would prefer to do it ASAP rather than go home first and get it arranged. You can be sure that I will immediately dispatch a pinnace with a message to SFMID HQ explaining what I have asked you to do, and why."
Delaney and Harbinger exchanged looks again, and Delaney looked back at her mother. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said. "We will accept your assignment on that basis. Besides which, it fits generally into why we are on the planet to begin with."
"Excellent." Ariela relaxed a bit. "I have an intelligence report of reasonable provenance needing to be checked out. It may require a certain amount of, hmm, direct action. At the moment, the work to be done is in Jadida, but may take you other places around the planet. You will be provided with orders allowing you to check vehicles and/or aircraft out of the motor pool at the Space Force spaceport, as necessary to your mission. These orders will also permit you to draw upon SPAFORSYSCOM for supplies and other necessary materials relative to this mission."
"Understood, ma'am."
"Sergeant-Major Fox, transfer copies of the mullah's report to the Major and the Captain, please."
Fox fiddled with his comm. Delaney's and Harbinger's comms beeped. "Completed, ma'am."
"There is an executive summary at the top, prepared by my staff, which I believe you should read now."
The two officers turned on their comms and read the summary. Both began to grin.
"Mother!" exclaimed Delaney. "You do love me!"
Now Ariela smiled. "Was there ever any doubt? You're the best at what you do, Delaney. I know you won't let me down." She nodded at Fox, who fiddled with his comm again, making the other two comms beep ditto. "Your orders have been transferred to your comms. In effect, they are to track down and eliminate a group of hardcores who have determined to wreck the terraforming project. I fully expect them to attack the university installation at some point in the very near future. So your job is, first, to prevent that, and second, to make sure it doesn't repeat and that these hardcores are wiped out to the last RIF. In aid of that, you have access to the resources mentioned before. All three FTSA fire teams are to be involved, and yes, Major Fox, you are authorized to accompany the forces on the ground."
Now Delaney was smiling like she'd been given the best all-in-one birthday, anniversary, Chanukah, and Christmas present possible. She stood, abruptly, and snapped off a perfect parade-ground salute. "Thank you, Colonel Wolff!"
Harbinger sighed, remained seated, and repeated, with a bit less enthusiasm, "Thank you, Colonel Wolff."
"Sorry, Harb. But you will need her and her special talents, I imagine."
"True enough, but it doesn't make me any happier. Still, the mission is the mission." Harbinger also rose and saluted. "FTSA won't let you down, ma'am."
"Excellent. Now, I presume you and FTSA have sufficient transport to make it back to Jadida? Or did you bring out the entire team?"
"Just us," said Delaney, "when you said you needed 'a fourth for bridge.' So we'll climb back in our flyer and head back to the barn. And thank you again for giving us something to do; our original orders to report to al-Saḥra' were somewhat vague, as usual in our business, so we've just been wandering around the Older City, looking for something to do." She grinned, evilly. "Now our wandering has purpose."
"Well," said Ariela, in the most motherly manner possible, "just be careful out there. And Harb, you take care of my daughter."
"Oorah, ma'am. I'm all over it."
Chapter 5
Whose Idea Was This, Anyway?
"When she said to take care of me, she did not mean to sti
ck me in the middle of the formation!"
"Sorry hon, can't hear you over the street noise."
"That's Major Hon, and you damn well did hear me, Harb. I can't see anything! Your team are all too tall."
Delaney tried to stand on tiptoe as they marched down the main street of the souk in the Older City, but failed to do that and failed to see over the broad shoulders of her husband and the sergeants of FTSA1. Well. If she'd looked to the left, she probably could have seen over the shoulders of Sergeant Adrienne Foster, the fire team's primary sniper and demo expert; and if she'd looked to the right, she definitely could have seen over the shoulders of Sergeant Lyn Fox, the team medic. But she wanted to see to the front, and several large men were preventing that.
She rolled her eyes, and as she thought of Lyn, she couldn't help remembering the girl who had, many years ago, clued them in to the Chinese sleeper agent caper. Because "Lyn Fox" was the young version – from this timeline – of Delaney's "aunt" Mei-Lin Lai – originally from Ariela's timeline – who happened to be the commanding general of Space Force Base Terra Meridiani on Mars. Lyn had been awakened after eighty-plus years in stasis back in 2101, and her awakening had started in motion FTSA1's initial big mission, back to 2017.
By the time the team returned, Lyn was fully awake, and was up and moving around, although quite weak from her long stretch in stasis. Ariela, who had stayed at the hospital in Chicago to visit on her case, had taken charge of the young woman when she was strong enough, and moved her to the Wolff estate in southern Indiana to continue her recuperation. Kat Wolff had also assisted with plenty of physical therapy, both in and out of the water.
And after the mission, Delaney and the team had taken a long leave, during which Delaney and Lyn, something like Ariela and Mei-Lin had done years before, became fast friends. Lyn, realizing she would probably need to change her name just to avoid confusion with her "older" self, decided she preferred the Anglicized second half of her personal name – and asked the Fox family if they would allow her to take their surname, in thanks for all they'd done for her. After which, she'd announced her intent to join the Space Force Marines and serve as a medic.
"Major!"
Delaney shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "Here!"
Harb was looking back at her, frowning. "Keep frosty, Major! You were off in la-la land, there." He turned back forward and they kept marching through the souk.
Delaney sighed, rolled her eyes, and adjusted the sling of her M11 so the carbine hung more comfortably.
"It's okay," said Lyn. "This shit is boring."
"Except we know where we're going, and it's not a usual day's march," countered Delaney. "You could get some business, today."
"Oh, I hope not," demurred Lyn. "I mean, sure, I can patch you up, but I don't want it to get to that point. And I'm sure not patching up any of these assholes after we light them up." She gestured with her eyes and head to the angry-looking males looking out from the shops and standing next to the buildings.
"Eh." Delaney shrugged. "They always look pissed off about something."
"Major," said Foster, quietly.
"Yeah, Adri?"
"Up and to the left, about 11 o'clock."
Delaney glanced casually up in the indicated direction, then looked away as if she'd simply seen a bird or something in the distance. "Harb. Sniper, 11 o'clock, 2nd floor window, fifteen yards in advance."
"See him. FTSA1, stand by to move hard left. Execute."
The whole team moved suddenly to the left, out of sight of the sniper's window. They heard a shot as the sniper, apparently taken by surprise, backpedaled quickly and forgot his booger hook was still on the bang switch. At the sound of the shot, every RIF on the street either hit the pavement or ducked into a building, fully expecting massive retaliation fire from the Space Force Marines.
FTSA were far too experienced for that.
"Move out," said Harbinger. "I want that sniper alive. Or not, but preferably alive."
The team hustled for the door of the indicated shop. Delaney stayed behind with Harbinger and Lyn, who as a medic was technically a non-combatant, but was just as qualified a rifleman as the rest of the team when it came down to cases.
The comm net squawked. "SA One Actual, SA Two Actual, we're behind the building and moving up to cover the rear."
"Oorah, Two. SA Three, what's your location?"
"SA One Actual, SA Three Actual, we're overwatch and coming in right behind you." An armored contragravity transport in USSFM markings swooped in parallel to the window the sniper had used and hovered there, its turreted M61A6 Vulcan IV Gatling in 20mm pointed directly and with intent into the building.
"In this business, anything worth doing, is worth overdoing," noted Delaney, sardonically. "Dumb shit. He should have blackened his barrel – we'd never have seen it."
"Never hold an enemy's mistakes against him. Rather, one should encourage him in making them," replied Harbinger.
The net crackled again. "SA One Actual, SA Two Actual, he came out the back door and we shot him with a tranq. Tango down. Even got his gun. Nice Barrett."
"All right, enter the building, check for associates, but my guess is anyone left in there was a hostage or non-combatant. Secure tango for transport. SA Three Actual, if there's nobody in that room you're aiming into, you can disengage, and pick up the tango in the back alley."
"Three roger." The transport rotated its turret forward, then rose and slid sideways toward the alley.
"SA One Five, report."
"All good here, Six," came Gunnery Sergeant Stirling's voice. "Tango was coming down the stairs, and we flushed him out the back door for SA Two. Good hunting today and good teamwork. Shall we adjourn back out to the street with you and your lovely bride?"
"Affirmative, Five. Bring it back out and we will continue on our merry way."
"Oorah, Six. Coming back out."
The team reassembled, and as soon as SA Two had swept the building and found it otherwise innocent of people, all three teams resumed the march.
"It's not far now," said Delaney.
"About half a klick," agreed Harbinger. "Everybody keep a sharp eye for snipers. They really don't want us coming near this place, if what's said to be happening there is for real."
At the next cross street, SA Two rejoined, and SA Three's transport hove down nearly to street level behind the two teams, the big Gatling trained ahead of them and rotating side to side as its gunner looked for targets. The barrel spun a few times as he maliciously bumped the firing paddles.
"SA Three Six, tell your gunner to stop spinning the barrel," ordered Harbinger. "It makes the locals nervous."
"Aye, aye, SA One Six."
The Gatling's barrel stopped spinning, but the turret still moved side to side. Harbinger was satisfied; that was one thing, but spinning up the barrel as if the gunner was actively preparing to fire was quite another.
"Fuck," said Harbinger, quietly. "Delaney, come forward."
She moved up, in between Harbinger and Brown, as they all kept walking. "What?"
"It's a fucking mosque."
"Shit."
Sure enough, the building they'd been sent to recon for hardcores was . . . a mosque.
"Whose idea was this fucking recon, anyway?"
"Your mother's."
"Yes, yes, yes, rhetorical for fuck's sake. Christ, Harb. Halt the column."
"Column halt," Harbinger told the net, and the marching stopped about half a block short of the building Harbinger had identified as a mosque.
"Remind me of the ROE."
"Rules of Engagement as set by the Colonial Governor allow us to enter a mosque for inspection if we ask politely and obtain permission first," replied Harbinger. "The Council, in its recent session after you and the mullah spoke, agreed to that, but as you're fully aware, the hardcores neither accept nor listen to the Council."
"And we're sure this is a hardcore mosque."
"The intelligence points that way
, yes, though it did not say it was a mosque, it said it was a community gathering building."
"That fucking mullah." Though in fairness, thought Delaney, the building was physically more like a big manufacturing or storage shed, with black, green, and gold shahada banners hanging all over it, and the minaret, such as it was, appeared to be a structure built precariously on a 30- or 40-foot man-lift. The building itself appeared to be entered via a 20-foot-wide garage door, which at the moment was rolled up about eight feet to allow people to go in and out.
"Well," she said, finally, "perhaps they turned it into a mosque after they got wind of the mullah's intelligence report, which I'm sure was leaked to them. The idea here seems to be to make us ask permission to look it over, but I'm not sure I feel constrained by the ROE in this case." She pulled out her comm, hit a speed dial, and held it to her ear. "Let me just make a little call."
◆
Ariela, perusing a report on her holotab, heard her comm buzz. Picking it up, she looked at the screen. "Uh-oh," she muttered, turning the device on. "Hello, Delaney. What's up?"
She listened for a moment, as her face got red, and her frown, which had started almost immediately as Delaney outlined the problem, deepened.
"That's a problem," she acknowledged. "I can't override the ROE without permission from higher. And yes, I'm truly pissed off at the mullah, and he's going to hear about it, along with a lecture on operational security, for whatever good that does. However . . . have you considered using your, er, 'special talent', to find out whether or not the place is stacked high with guns and ammo?"
She listened some more, and her frown began to turn into a smile. "It's okay, dear, I don't expect you to automatically remember to do that all the time. And yes, if you see it, and then you prove it's there, your action under the ROE will apply retroactively. I will make a note in the orders as soon as I hang up. Okay. Love you, too, be careful. Out."
The Lion in Paradise Page 7