Nomad Omnibus 01_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by Craig Martelle

  Which Terry thought she could do. He didn’t interfere, because she was right. New Boulder would not survive an attack by the pack.

  * * *

  Mark considered for a second, “Twenty-four seven coverage. Twelve hour shifts. Nightwatch, you take the nights. We change after dawn and toward dusk. We’ll have a second watch change at noon and midnight. Twelve on, twelve off until the colonel returns, with one pair changing out every six hours,” Mark explained to the assembled group. He needed four people for his plan. He had seven at his disposal. He’d rotate people in and out and the three who weren’t active would train in firearms, physical fitness, tactical movement, and everything he’d learned in the two months of study under Terry Henry Walton.

  There was so much that he didn’t know, but committed to learning. He’d started taking notes, using an old pencil and a notebook that he’d found when surveying homes for the newcomers.

  “As the colonel said, none of us is as smart as all of us, so if you see something or think something, share it. Let’s find what works best.” Mark looked at those in his charge. He’d never been responsible for so many before. Once, he would have been drunk with power, but now, his goal was to not disappoint Terry. He gave his full attention to the mission.

  The mission.

  “The largest human being you’ll ever see could come this way, and then what do we do?” Mark asked.

  “Shoot him dead!” Boris suggested with a smile.

  “Maybe, but that’s not the first thing we do. What did the colonel teach us?” Mark asked, looking at Jim and Ivan.

  Jim shrugged. “He beat the crap out of me three times before I finally figured it out.”

  Ivan pointed to his crooked nose and misshaped lip. “He smashed my face in.”

  Mark held his head, then threw up his hands in frustration. “He gave us a chance. We fought him when he was willing to talk first. Had we discussed things, then we wouldn’t have gotten our asses handed to us. Again and again. So we’ll talk, but we have to be ready to fight. We’ll have two people awake and on shift at any point in time. The first who sees this man or any new person sounds the alarm and then stops that person to talk…”

  The seven of them practiced saying “stop, identify yourself and your purpose here!” Blackbeard was the most animated as he put himself into the role, imagining it was Sawyer Brown but with the roles reversed. Blackbeard was the one with the rifle, smaller, with power to kill at his fingertips.

  “Corporal?” Blackbeard asked, and Mark acknowledged him. The others turned, wondering. “When do we get our guns?”

  Guard duty was to start that night and only half his people were armed. “Which of you know about the AK-47?” Blackbeard was the only one who did not raise his hand. “We have a couple days to teach you all about your rifle and how to shoot, Blackie.” The young man looked disappointed

  “Nightwatch, you assume your shift after dinner. Go get some rack time. David, you start at midnight. Get yourself some sleep. The rest of us, we’re going to build a guard shack where I’ll sleep, so either I or Jim can be here all the time. That will give us three people to respond and we’ll have Billy to back us up, too. He’ll be watching from up there, just like he is now,” Mark said, pointing at the second-story window where Billy stood, leaning against the frame and looking out at the group of men who were his security.

  “Let’s make them proud. We stand between the unknown and the new world, where people can live their lives without interference from people like I used to be. That world sucked. I like this new place that Terry Henry, Char, I mean the colonel and major, and even Billy Spires are building. Can you imagine flipping a switch and having light and heat? We’re going to get there. All we have to do is stand guard, so we will stand guard better than anyone has ever done before, because it is what we must do.” Mark hesitated, then decided he’d lectured enough.

  He stayed with Blackie while Ivan and David found themselves a place to get some sleep. The other three went in search of materials to build a guard shack, a small building where they could put a cot and clean their weapons after being out in the weather.

  The young man looked at Mark with respect, eager and wanting to learn. Mark knew that he couldn’t let the young man down. It would have been like failing his own children, and that was how he felt about all of the men in his squad. Damn you, Terry Henry! I never wanted to be a dad, but here I am, me and my six kids.

  He finished his thought, And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “This is the AK-47. It is a magazine-fed automatic and semi-automatic weapon that fires a 7.62 by 39mm round…” he recited, pointing to the parts on the weapon as he talked.

  * * *

  “It feels good to be back in uniform. Wearing street clothes, I felt like a partisan or something,” Terry said casually as they walked toward Margie Rose’s house. He looked at Char in her skin-tight jeans. “How can you wear those?”

  “Well, TH. I wear them well,” she replied, one eyebrow raised, purple eyes sparkling.

  “It’s going to be a really long ride. We’ll be on those horses for weeks. And how are you going to be able to practice fighting while wearing them?”

  “Loose jeans or tight jeans will make a difference in how I sit in the saddle?” she asked sarcastically. “You understand that when I fight Marcus for real, I’ll be in my Were form?”

  Terry pursed his lips. He hadn’t considered that. “That changes things a bit. If you fight me as a Werewolf, can you keep yourself from killing me?”

  “Why would I want to kill you?” Char was confused.

  “I read books. In Harry Potter, the Werewolf wasn’t in control,” he countered, trying to keep it light while his mind worked on how to train a Werewolf in her natural state.

  Char stared at him, “Harry Potter? You mean to tell me that everything you know about Werewolves, you learned from Harry Potter?”

  “Not really. I’ve run across them before, but I don’t really know anything. So you are you, regardless of form,” Terry conceded. “Purple eyes and all.”

  “Exactly. Marcus is a great black Werewolf, huge jaws and unrivalled physical strength. I need to be faster, stay away from his mouth, get in behind him. I need to end the fight quickly.” She looked into the distance as she imagined how the battle would play out. Marcus trying to dominate her through brute force.

  But he was fast, too. She needed to be faster.

  “We’re going to have to tell the others,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I think so, because you are going to have to get in shape, work out as a Werewolf, run, build muscle, turn on a dime. Which means that we need to feed you well, too,” Terry said as his mind continued to work at the speed of light.

  “I will hunt for us all. In Were form, I’m a pretty good hunter, but you are right. I will need to eat a lot.”

  They continued walking back toward Margie Rose’s house in order to make sure the horses were ready for an early morning departure and that their bags were packed with everything they needed. They didn’t have much in the way of material goods. Terry thought he’d be able to talk Margie Rose into making some hard rolls for the group, at least for the first day. After that, they’d be on their own.

  “Silver,” Terry said out loud, as his mind raced on a new tangent. “If I can braid some silver into my whip, what would that do?”

  “Hurt like hell, leave a scar that would take a long time to heal. If you wrapped silver around his neck, he would have a hard time getting it off because it would hurt him to touch it,” she answered. “But then he’d simply attack and kill you in a way that your nanocytes won’t be able to save you.”

  “I figured that second part, but this would be a last resort kind of thing. I’m not going down without a fight. And if I’m fighting him with my bullwhip, then you’ve already lost. Maybe at that point he’ll be hurt badly enough that I can finish him, then we can see if your nanocytes can come to the rescue,” Terry suggested. “
I can’t lose my major. That wouldn’t make me a very good colonel.”

  “Is that why?” She stopped to look at him, one hand on his arm. He turned to face her.

  “Of course, what other reason could there possibly be?” He cradled her face in his hand before stroking the silver streak in her hair that trailed down one side of her face.

  “Brown pelt, silver belly fur,” she answered before he asked.

  Clyde ran at them and jumped, hitting Terry in the chest. He stumbled backward and fell. “What the hell, Clyde?” The dog dropped into play pose, tail wagging furiously. Char laughed and pointed an accusing finger at Terry.

  “Saved by your dog. I’m starting to wonder about you, TH.” Terry rolled to all fours and lunged at Clyde. The dog danced backward and ran off. Terry jumped to his feet and jogged after the big coonhound.

  “Little boys. My pets are little boys!” she yelled after them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  When Marcus woke, it was a full day after the bear attack. He’d been moved to the side, placed carefully among rocks protected by a stand of tightly-packed trees. He could smell the bear not far off as it was starting to rot. He crawled stiffly from the rocks. The wound along his side had healed, but there was an ugly scar. His back leg supported his weight, but it looked bulkier than his other leg. He wondered why it hadn’t healed without leaving any trace of the original injury.

  He’d think on that later.

  His clothes were piled nearby, but he left them as he found the bear and ate, indifferent to the gamey taste. There was no trace of Were scent on the bear, but other predators had partaken, coyotes, birds, maybe even a wolverine. He couldn’t tell for sure.

  Marcus ate his fill of the greasy meat and then staggered back to the rocks, where he curled up. He reached out with his senses, but couldn’t find the others. They weren’t close by and he hadn’t seen a note. He changed into human form and dug through his clothes. Nothing.

  They could have killed him, but they didn’t. They could have left him for dead with the bear, where other predators would find him, but they didn’t. They could have stayed to protect him, but they went somewhere.

  My pack has gone to that town to get Char. They will return with her and then we will move on. With those thoughts comforting him, he went back to sleep.

  He could not have been more wrong.

  * * *

  That evening, Terry and Char rode the horses back to the mayor’s house to inspect the guard. Char told TH to let her handle it, which he agreed to, but he wanted to know something first.

  “Were you ever in the military?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied without elaborating.

  “Well, out with it, branch of service, MOS, your military occupational specialty, what did you do?”

  “Columbia, Naval ROTC, class of 1965. Women didn’t serve on ships back then, so I was admin ashore. That sucked, so four and done.”

  “Ivy League,” Terry said. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m thinking your real education came later, the real world education that made you who you are.”

  “Studying hard will not turn you into a Werewolf, Terry dear,” she drawled, mimicking Felicity. TH smiled.

  He wanted insight into the Werewolf who would protect New Boulder with her life, just as he would. And that was why they were leaving, because it was best for everyone. If only they could get Marcus to follow, lead the pack as far away from the civilians as they could.

  “How do we get the pack to follow us?” Terry asked.

  * * *

  Billy Spires looked at the dog’s breakfast being erected in his front yard. “What the hell is that?” Billy asked, then pulled the window open, shivering when the cool breeze hit him.

  “Fuck no!” he yelled at the men below. “Nobody move, I’m coming down there!”

  Mark looked at the others with trepidation. What if Billy’s orders contradicted the colonel’s? He didn’t have long to wait as the mayor stormed out the front door.

  “What the fuck is this monstrosity?” Billy asked.

  “The guard shack?” Mark said, making it a question, just in case. “Shelter from the weather while a place for a third person to sleep, so we always have three people on hand.”

  “Why don’t you just use the shed out back?” Billy replied, pointing toward the sidewalk that led to the back of the house. Mark held his hands up. He hadn’t thought to ask.

  Billy waved them to follow him as he led the group to the back of his house. A shed was there, unlocked. There was very little in it. Once they moved the freezer out, there would be enough room for a cot, two chairs, and a small table where they could clean their weapons. The only drawback was they couldn’t see the front of the house from the shed.

  It was never Mark’s intent to stand guard duty from within the shack, so his people would be exposed to the weather a little more than planned. They’d deal with it.

  “We have a triangle of steel that we’ll ring if anyone approaches. That’s our alarm, Billy. When you hear that, you’ll know someone is coming, and you’ll also know that there will be three of us with rifles, out here, between your house and him.” Mark stood tall, looking confident.

  He was a far different man from the one that Billy had used to bully the townspeople. John was that way naturally so he flourished in the role that Billy had put him into. John had bullied these men, as well. Mark stood there a new man, with a selfless purpose. The others, too. They were well armed and ready to do battle, even though they were ill-prepared to fight a man like Marcus.

  Billy held out his hand and Mark shook it.

  “Thanks, Mark, to all of you. Follow whatever orders Terry Henry gave you and for fuck’s sake, tear down that bullshit in my front yard before Felicity sees it and rips me a new asshole,” Billy quipped. The members of the Force chuckled until Mark gave them the Mark One hairy eyeball and they ran out front to tear down their attempt at building a guard shack.

  “I trust you, but I hope to hell that big bastard doesn’t come back here. If he does, there will only be one thing to do and that’s fill him with holes. Lots and lots of holes…”

  * * *

  Terry and Char saw the flurry of activity in Billy’s front yard as they approached. Clyde started barking and ran into the middle of those he considered litter-mates since they all answered to his alpha and her beta.

  Chaos ensued until they chased Clyde away. Mark walked from behind the mayor’s house, kneeled down, and ruffled the dog’s ears to keep him distracted while the men finished their work.

  Char held her hands out, palms up in the universal WTF gesture. Mark jogged over, waving. “Don’t look at that. It’s nothing. Just cleaning up a little miscue. We’ve established the guard shack out back and the rotation. Ivan and David are sleeping as they have the first two shifts. Here, let me walk you through what we have in mind,” Mark started.

  Terry stopped him. “Here’s a lesson I learned a long time ago. It’s called Napoleon’s corporal. In the old days, Napoleon conquered nearly all of Europe. One of his leadership tools was to tell his plan to a corporal. If the corporal could repeat it back to him, then the plan was simple enough to be followed by everyone involved. So, Blackbeard will brief the plan once you remove whatever it is you’ve got going on here,” Terry told them, squinting, unable to make heads or tails out of why this mass of varying building materials was in the front yard.

  The men loaded up and carried everything to a nearby burn pile. They returned and formed up into their squad, with Mark at the front and Blackie in the back. The men were armed with AK-47 rifles and magazines inserted. TH nodded for Char to lead the way.

  Columbia Naval ROTC. Who would have thought that? No wonder she has a soft spot for the Marines, Terry thought, letting his ego out of its dark place for a short visit. Then he remembered why he went into the Wastelands, how his wife and son had been killed.

  How Terry Henry Walton had not been able to save his own fam
ily.

  He stuffed his ego back into its closet and slammed the door. His men weren’t ready to do what he asked of them, but they were all he had. He needed Marcus to follow Char, and that was the only way the infantile Force de Guerre had a fighting chance.

  Terry and Char dismounted, stood in front of Mark, saluted sharply, and started their inspection. The men didn’t have uniforms, so they inspected the one thing that was available. The weapons.

  Char looked over the AK-47 that Mark held in front of him. He turned it one way then the other for her. She nodded and moved to the next in line. Jim presented his rifle and Char ripped it out of his hand. She snarled. “Look at this!”

  Jim was confused.

  “Your selector switch is set for automatic fire!” she screamed at him. His eyes grew wide. “Am I going to find a round in the chamber, Private? AM I?”

  Jim nodded weakly. Char pulled on the magazine release lever in front of the trigger housing and removed the magazine. She grasped the lever aside the bolt and yanked it to the rear, sending a live round out the ejection port and to the ground some feet way. She jammed the rifle so hard into Jim’s chest, it sent the big man staggering backward.

  “Put your weapons on safe and get your finger off the trigger!” she growled at them.

  Terry wondered how much time she spent with the Marines. Maybe too much as she seemed a natural in her role, but that was an awful long time ago. Nothing to be jealous of, and why would he feel jealous in any case? He shook his head to clear his mind, getting angry with himself.

  If his men were not up to speed then he didn’t train them well enough. It was his responsibility. I need more time, he argued within his own mind. But you don’t get any more time. Tomorrow, you run, leaving a trail that a child could follow in hopes that a Werewolf will come after you. Not your best plan, TH, but there wasn’t anything better out there, so off you go, dickweed.