Standing Before Hell's Gate

by William Alan Webb

  #

  Painted Desert, Arizona

  1647 hours

  Govind heard the distant cry of a prairie falcon as it circled high overhead. Somehow he found the bird comforting, for he’d always considered falcons part of the spirit of the land, as if the desert had manifested into animal shape. But the falcon could only observe; it couldn’t intervene in the affairs of men, which at the moment were all that concerned him.

  From his position high up on a ridge east of Snowtiger’s cave, he’d seen the men scrambling up the rock face, but couldn’t intercede because of the Sevens right behind them. The thought of strange men attacking his tribe’s beloved Seer, in her own language their Oboyo, drove him mad. He loved her as he’d never loved anyone except his cherished wife, but not in the same way, in a way he couldn’t explain.

  Then he saw the men were old and knew they came from Overtime. That meant they were all in danger. By himself he could do nothing, and while he might round up enough of the tribe to intervene, it would take too long. But that afternoon he’d seen great dust clouds down near Holbrook, the kind made by machines and not horses or men. The day’s sunlight was draining away toward night, but having no other recourse, he climbed back down the ridge, mounted his horse, and galloped south. The risks of a night ride were high. The risks of waiting for dawn were unacceptable.

  #

  Chapter 37

  Some snakes prefer to eat their prey alive.

  Cagliari the Unfeeling

  Malibu, California

  1658 hours, April 27

  It wasn’t a beach chair, but Rosos didn’t care. For some reason, he couldn’t get enough of staring at the ocean, particularly late in the afternoon as the sun began to set. In the sand beside him was a glass filled with fresh orange juice and honest-to-goodness rum. Even without ice or grenadine, it tasted good.

  Shouts from the house let him know Adder had returned and didn’t sound happy, so he finished his drink. The volatile head of security tended to do crazy things, including throwing a perfectly good drink into the ocean. No reason to take that chance.

  He didn’t turn around to gauge Adder’s progress; he didn’t have to. Heavy footfalls crunching through the sand pinpointed his progress as well as watching him would have.

  “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” Adder planted himself in front of Rosos’ chair, bent over, and then gesticulated wildly, waving his arms as he raged. For his part, Rosos just let Adder vent, since he was always angry about something. “I finally got to Bumfuck Nowhere to the training camp, where they beat these worthless Chinese into some sort of combat troops, and then I find out that even the DIs are useless. This whole army is a clusterfuck!”

  “Did you select the men to accompany you to Overtime?”

  “I got bodies. I’m not sure they’re men.”

  “But enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rosos smiled. “Excellent. Would you care for a drink?”

  “What a stupid fucking question. Of course I do.”

  #

  1548 hours, April 27

  Piccaldi and Snowtiger were attached to First Platoon and arrived on top of the hill after the shooting was over. Except for one young, scared prisoner, the rest of the Sevens were dead. Two Marines had started a small fire while two others gathered wood. Most of the rest were involved either in checking the dead for intel or digging a pit to bury them. The two snipers had no assigned duties, so as the lowering sun cast lengthening shadows, they sat on the sunny side of the Humvee to take advantage of the day’s last warmth. Nights that time of year frequently dipped near freezing.

  “You’re waiting for me to say it, aren’t you?” Piccaldi said.

  “Yes, I am,” Snowtiger replied, although she had no idea what he meant and wasn’t waiting for him to say anything. However, she did have one faint hope of what he might say.

  “Yeah, I figured… okay, here it is… that was a damned good pickup this afternoon.”

  That wasn’t it. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. One little flash, and you’re the only one who saw it out of two whole companies. I mean, damn, girl! Maybe you do have some kind of Indian hocus-pocus goin’ on.”

  “I’ve told you before…” She stopped and her eyes opened wide. Her mouth hung open from her unfinished sentence.

  “Lara, are you okay? What—”

  “Ssshhh!” She held up her hand for him to be quiet. Piccaldi’s concerned face hung at the edge of her vision, but she ignored him.

  A voice spoke to her inside her head.

  When it finished, without questioning whether it’d been a hallucination or real, she got to her feet and ran to find Captain Sully. Piccaldi was right behind her.

  #

  Captain Sully stood on a large boulder, scanning as much of the surrounding territory as he could see. First Platoon had cleared the rest of the hill and no other dangers appeared imminent. He allowed himself to blow out one breath of relief before stepping down to see to his command’s dispositions. As his boots hit the dusty desert floor, he saw Snowtiger bouncing on the balls of her feet and running straight for him.

  She drew herself up and gave a sloppy salute, followed a second later by Piccaldi.

  “What’s the matter?” he said. In the brief time since Overtime had gone operational, he’d learned to trust Snowtiger’s insights.

  Panting, she gasped out the words by twos and threes. “The prisoner… he’s not a Seven… he’s on… our side… you’ve gotta listen… to him.”

  “Do you recognize him?” Sully said with obvious skepticism.

  “No, Cap, never seen him before.”

  “Then how do you know I should believe him?”

  “I just do, sir.”

  “That’s no answer, Sergeant.”

  “If I told the captain how I know it, he wouldn’t believe me and I’d be declared unfit for duty.”

  “That’s all the more reason to tell me how you know it.”

  “Please, Captain…”

  Snowtiger was a stone cold killer. Hearing a pleading tone in her voice made Sully uneasy. Twice now she’d kept his command from being surprised in the field, so she’d earned a lot of credibility. Moreover, she’d won the Medal of Honor. He looked from her to Piccaldi. “What do you know about this?”

  “Nothing, Cap. We were talking, then she got this weird, blank look. I could’ve sworn I saw her lips movin’, like she was talking to somebody. For what’s it worth, I’d believe her, sir.”

  “Give it to me straight, Snowtiger. Who told you about this prisoner?”

  Instead of hesitating or biting her lip, she looked straight into Sully’s eyes. “My sister, Captain.”

  #

  Operation Comeback

  1919 hours, April 27

  Lt. Colonel Astrid Naidoo held her uniform cap as the Bell UH-1Y Venom utility helicopter increased rotors to takeoff speed, which sent blasts of air across the heli-pad. Scurrying through the swirls of dust while lugging her duffle bag, she stopped, closed her eyes to keep particles from getting in them, and waited for the rotor wash to die down. Once moving again, she saw someone waiting for her beside a small concrete building housing the elevator, a blond woman in unfamiliar pants and shirt, holding an M-16 at the ready. As Naidoo trotted toward her, the woman opened a door into the building and followed her inside.

  “My name’s Frosty,” the woman said once the door had closed behind them. There was a coldness to her tone that made Naidoo wonder if that was how she’d gotten her name. “You could be in danger.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frosty.” She extended her hand.

  But the Zombie didn’t shake it. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Colonel, but you might be a target. Did you bring a sidearm?”

  “No. I didn’t think I’d need one.” She also didn’t have one.

  Frosty clucked in disgust. “Here.” She passed over a standard issue Beretta M9 and two spare magazines wrapped in an M12 holster. “I tried to
find you a Sig Sauer XM18 but couldn’t find one, but that’s a helluva good gun if you’ve never shot one.”

  “I shot one in Iraq,” Naidoo said, without adding it had been only during the once-a-year required qualification at the base shooting range. Her expertise had always been administrative and not combat.

  Frosty seemed to sense the unspoken truth behind Naidoo’s brief answer, though. “Maybe you and General Schiller can practice together,” she said. They stepped into the elevator. Frosty punched a floor number and pointed at the pistol. “You might want to put that on.”

  “What kind of danger could I be in here?”

  “More than you think. There’re a lot of people in here who’re loyal to General Steeple, and they are royally pissed that he got locked up.”

  “To the point of hurting me?”

  “To the point of hurting all of us. They view the people from Overtime as some sort of enemy. Also, we apparently abducted some sleepers from here and took them back to Prime. And one last thing is that a Zombie got killed who’d been part of their security team, a really talented sniper named Scope. She and I roomed together I don’t how many times. Add all of that up and we’re sittin’ in a pile of shit.”

  Naidoo turned to the younger woman, aghast. “You do not use that kind of language around a superior officer. Do you understand me?”

  Frosty rolled her eyes. “Lady, I’m a Zombie. We ain’t got no superior officers. We’ve just got Green Ghost.”

  #

  General Schiller looked up at the knock on his door. Before he could say come in, Frosty entered without being told, followed by Lt. Colonel Naidoo. Taking advantage of the open door, Corporal Duglach slid into the office, too.

  Schiller put down a pen and crossed his arms. “Colonel Naidoo, I’m very glad to see you. Frosty and Corporal Duglach, I do not remember telling you to enter my office.”

  “You didn’t,” Frosty said. “Glide told me to update you on the security situation. You wanna hear it or not?”

  The tips of Schiller’s ears turned red. Having been described by more than one fellow officer as the hardest-ass stickler for military protocol who ever lived, he found it very difficult to accept the casual manners of his two Zombies. With a force of will, he kept himself from shouting. “Yes, please give me the information. But first, Corporal Duglach, what do you need?”

  “General, you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Let me bring you some dinner.”

  “I’m fine, Corporal.”

  “Sir—”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m not hungry.”

  Then something happened that had never happened during his entire military career — a subordinate called him out.

  “Did you ever think she might be hungry?” Frosty said, pointing with her rifle at Naidoo.

  He gaped at the wiry blonde woman, who merely stared back.

  “I’m fine,” Naidoo said. “I had a big lunch.”

  Schiller ignored her. His voice remained even but his flushed cheeks and noisy inhalations were all that was needed to show his rage. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to that way, but I could have you court-martialed for insubordination and half a dozen other charges, and maybe I will.”

  “Two things wrong with that,” Frosty said. “First, I’m not in the Army, or the Marines, or any other branch of service. You can’t order me around because I’m not in your chain of command. And second, if you want me arrested, who’s going to do it, me? You’ve only got two security people on this base you can count on, General, me and Glide. Now let’s all eat something so we can get on with our meeting and the colonel can find a bunk.”

  “I’m the commanding general of this base,” he said, his voice rising only slightly but carrying even more menace. “While you are on this base, you will do as I order, or you can get out. You will show me the respect due to my rank, or you can get out. I don’t care if I have to defend myself all by myself, but I will not be disrespected by you or anyone else.”

  Frosty cocked her head, letting her short bangs dangle to one side. A lopsided grin took the place of the scowl she’d worn only seconds earlier. Pointing at General Schiller, she began to nod. “Now that’s a man I can fight to keep safe. Well said… sir.”

  Schiller blinked several times and let his breathing slow before he spoke again. “Corporal, please bring dinner for everybody. We’ll be eating in here.”

  Duglach left and the two women pulled chairs closer to Schiller’s desk.

  Without preamble, Frosty launched into what she had to say. “This base’s security battalion was hand-picked by General Steeple, but it wasn’t because they were bad-asses. Most of them are walking around with their dicks in their hands…”

  “That is not language I want to hear in a report!” Although his voice had shrillness when he raised it, there was surprising power, too. Before Frosty could say anything he added something else. “It’s not professional.”

  Her rebuttal froze on her lips; instead she laughed. “You got me there, General. I’m nothin’ if not a pro. All right, see if this is better… most of the security people were picked because of their extreme loyalty to General Steeple personally. You’ve should have their personnel files, but from what I hear, he intervened in a lot of their careers to help them advance. This whole operation looks like it was set up as his personal little kingdom. That includes Overtime, and now that he’s been arrested there’s open talk of how to bust him out of his cell. Right now their anger is focused at you, General, because you’re his replacement here at Comeback. So far there hasn’t been a catalyst for their anger, but that could change. Glide is out right now keeping an eye on them.”

  Schiller listened, his face tight in concentration. “First, thank you for your efforts in collecting this information. I know it must be difficult to acquire.”

  “Without hurting anybody, yeah, it’s tough. We’re not allowed to hurt anybody, right?”

  Schiller couldn’t imagine how the slender woman could hurt a well-trained soldier. At five feet, seven inches tall, she wasn’t short, and from the way she moved, her toned musculature was obvious, but still, she couldn’t weigh more than 135 pounds, at most. And yet he never doubted the casual danger she alluded to possessing.

  “Second,” he went on, “I’d like you to identify any individuals who might remain loyal to the chain of command.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can do that. But General, for your own good, don’t go anywhere without your personal weapon and if it comes down to it, don’t hesitate to use it. Same goes for you, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, Frosty. I’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else?” When nobody said anything, Schiller relaxed his scowl. “Very well, then… is anyone hungry?”

  #

  Chapter 38

  Ask not the Elves for advice, because they will tell you both no and yes.

  J.R.R. Tolkien

  North of Beaty, Nevada on Highway 95

  1921 hours, April 27

  Bumping along the highway leading north from Creech, Angriff was surprised at how good the reception was with Colonel Kordibowski back at Prime. Sitting beside him, Major Iskold waited to take notes or write up orders, although the failing light made her squint at the notepad in her lap.

  “The two Marine recon companies ran into a patrol of Sevens west of Gallup, New Mexico,” Colonel Kordibowski said. “One of them claims to be from Shangri-La and we believe him. He says it’s located in a valley north of Albuquerque.”

  “Not Colorado?” asked Angriff.

  “Not according to this guy. He even had some sort of evidence to back him up, but on the other hand he’s a Muslim. Do we trust him or not?”

  Twenty seconds went by before Angriff spoke again. “Didn’t that Idaho Jack guy gives us directions?”

  “He said it was somewhere northeast or east of Gallup. When I asked him how far it was, he said it took him six days to get there, but had no idea in
kilometers or miles. According to this man, it’s about 200 miles to the east, in a mountainous region near the San Antonio and Jemez Hot Springs.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “North of Albuquerque.”

  “And they believe him?”

  “Yes, sir, they do.”

  “What about you?”

  “I do not have a satisfactory response for that, General. I can see both sides. However, and I think this is the deciding factor, I am not the officer on the spot.”

  “Come on, Rip, don’t hand me that crap. You’re the S-2. It’s your job to answer such questions.”

  “Very well then, sir. Keeping in mind this is pure speculation, I do believe him and then again I do not. Since he is a Muslim, I have to think he could be a plant, although the Sevens are not true Muslims, so perhaps I am equating the two in error.”

  “That’s not speculation, that’s the educated guess of an experienced intelligence officer I trust implicitly. The fact that he’s a Muslim matters to me only because we are at war with a Caliphate that claims to be Islamic, and that makes this man a potential security risk. But it remains to be seen whether his information is valid or not, and if it is then we owe him a debt of gratitude. It’s a complicated business… so in the end I’m giving the decision to the officer on the spot, as you suggested.”

  “That would be Captain Sully.”

  “He’s a good man… hang on a minute, Rip.” Covering the microphone, Angriff turned to Iskold. “Aren’t we sending two tanker trucks to meet the Marines in the vicinity of Albuquerque, escorted by 2nd Army Recon Battalion? Have they left yet?”

  Iskold shook her head.

  “Let’s also set up FOB in eastern Arizona, with a protected landing area for our helicopters, plus a supply and fuel dump. Then ascertain the status of the armored battalion elements currently at Prime, in case they’re needed to support the Marines.”

  “That would create a lot of wear and tear, sir.”