by Alma Boykin
Back at the scouts’ laager, Rachel jerked her head up and sniffed the wet winter air, her eye narrowing. Something moved. Rachel closed the laptop and stood, limping a few meters away from the vehicle before she stopped and reached out and down with her mind. The landscape took on a disorienting double appearance as she tried to get a better sense of what had caught her attention. Energy flowed through channels here and there, and seemed to be focusing in the direction Lee and the scouts had gone. Something about that concentration felt wrong, and Rachel let herself sink into a form of trance, trying to connect with Logres while maintaining her own awareness and not upsetting the lurking Army soldiers.
There—there was the wrongness. Not exactly where the scouts were headed, but farther to the north by half a kilometer or so, centered on a pool that shouldn’t have been there. Something not-Logres was diverting the energy and concentrating it. It manifested as heat, stirring the groundwater and forcing it to the surface in the form of a new hot pool. As Rachel watched, the entity that she called Logres reached out and cut the power flow, redirecting the energy back to its previous channels and scattering what had been gathered. The being was neither pleased nor displeased, simply undoing what had been done by another, then returning its attention elsewhere. Still linked, Rachel sensed the swirling energies of a storm just off the northwestern coast of the island. Then she returned to herself with a shake.
The wind whistling over the moor cut through her heavy coat, and Rachel wasted no time going back to her earlier perch on the doorsill of the vehicle. Corporal Lee hadn’t followed her, just kept a careful eye out, and nodded his acknowledgment when the xenologist returned. They could see the Army soldiers and vice versa, but made no attempt to communicate. Instead, Rachel opened her computer again and checked the sensor readings. That’s strange, she thought. The temperature should not be increasing, unless something is covering the multi-sensor and I’m seeing body heat. The scout carrying the sensor had also moved past the initial investigation point, toward the new pond. Well, that was normal procedure—the Wanderer shrugged it off. She reached into her work satchel and pulled out the little sack of dried beef she kept with her. “Snack, corporal?” she invited.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the Singaporean soldier said, helping himself to a piece. After they finished their nibble, he ventured, “Ma’am, is the Army always so . . . careful about allowing access to a possible incursion scene?” Rachel approved of the tactful choice of words.
“Generally no, Corporal. This may be part of the exercise, or it could be someone who is unfamiliar with our security procedures. Our intelligence and security clearances are slightly different from the British standard,” she explained carefully. Or it could be a jackass on a power trip who can’t tell a xenologist from xylem, the Wanderer growled in the privacy of her own mind. “To my knowledge we’ve not worked with this regiment before, so that may be part of their caution.”
“Ah. Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel’s radio crackled. “Boer One to Manx One, over.”
“This is Manx One. Go Ahead.” Why was Lee calling her?
Out in the grass and heather-covered terrain, Lee studied a map and Rachel’s sensor box. “Manx One, be advised your device is pulsing yellow and we are encountering terrain features not shown on our maps.”
Rachel quickly refreshed the laptop’s readouts and frowned. “Roger, Boer One. Recommend staying clear of the unmarked feature, and—” Her sense of “not-right-ness” stirred again. “Boer One, do not, repeat, do not approach the pond, over. Manx One en route momentarily.”
“Will avoid, roger. Boer One clear.” Lee waved for his troopers to leave the pond and begin working back towards their initial goal. Boers Four and Six, the soldiers closest to the unmarked water, hesitated, their attention caught by something in or around the water. As Lee began triggering his radio to repeat the recall, the pool exploded into a steaming, scalding fountain. Lee heard screams, then a sickening wet noise over the radio, then silence.
Two more of the troopers started for the steam cloud, freezing in place as Rachel’s voice called over the Boer radio channel, “Fall back, repeat fall back, Manx One clear.” The men hesitated, torn by the order. Something in the cloud splashed, and the scouts heard another scream, then silence. The wind swirled, blowing the mist away long enough to reveal the two stricken men. Alert for danger, the scouts darted in, grabbed the two, and hauled them back to what seemed like a safe distance. Lee looked at the men and locked his teeth as his gorge rose. Their armor and helmets had not completely protected them, and Cpl. Anderson’s face looked like boiled beef, the skin trying to slough off.
Meanwhile, back at the vehicle laager, Rachel made up her mind. Screw the Army, she snarled in her head. As soon as she finished warning the scouts, Rachel called the exercise supervisor. “Command Two, Manx One. Manx One relocating.” She did not give Col. Selassie time to reply before moving quickly and carefully, sauntering between the vehicles as if she had not a worry in the world. The Army soldiers seemed distracted, and Rachel took advantage of it to duck into a low area, work her way around a small rise and out of sight, then take off toward Lee and the others as fast as she could over the rough and snaggy terrain. Corporal Lee, per earlier instructions for this type of contingency, remained with the vehicles in hopes of keeping the Army observers fooled.
The Army corporal tasked with keeping the civilian out of the incident area didn’t try to follow her onto the moor. Instead, he radioed a terse message to the lieutenant in charge of the scene, giving the apparent direction of the intruder and noting that her escort had remained behind to guard the GDF vehicles. Lt. Tim Jones in turn passed the information up the chain and wondered why he always seemed to be the one tasked with dealing with insane civilians.
Back at the GDF’s field command center, Col. Selassie didn’t bother trying to reply to Manx One. Instead, the Ethiopian officer informed her second in command, Major Thorsten Sigurdson, to be ready to extract the scouts and their advisor. “There may be some initial difficulty with the supporting force,” Selassie warned him.
“Yes, ma’am,” the taciturn Icelander acknowledged, as he called up data for both ground and air recovery.
As he worked, Desta wondered if she should advise Command One as to the situation. She decided against it. If we have to evacuate the Scouts, she thought. Then I’ll call him, but not until then.
First Sergeant Lee had no interest in watching his medic as she worked on the two injured troopers. Instead, he concentrated on establishing a safe observation point from which they could monitor the deadly pond, all the while wondering where on Earth Manx One was, how long it would take her to reach them, and whether or not he should call for back-up from Lt. Ekaterina Gretchkaninov. He opted to wait until he had more information, since Cdr. Na Gael’s device had returned to a mostly-green color. “I’m here,” an incredibly welcome voice panted a few minutes later. “Came the direct route, but don’t recommend it.” The disheveled xenologist brushed past the out-watchers, then skidded to a halt, pulling her medical kit off her shoulder as she dropped to her knees beside Pvt. Anderson. She took off one of her gloves and touched the thrashing soldier’s hand. He went limp. Sergeant Ellie McHenry briefed Na Gael, then turned her attention to Cpl. Nguen.
“How much morphine solution did you give him,” Rachel inquired, frowning as she examined the English soldier.
“Five cc’s, ma’am. I started with three, but it had no effect so I gave him another two,” the medic replied.
“He’s already burned through it. Corporal Zon, give me an assist, please,” the Wanderer said calmly, as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “I want you to monitor his pulse and breathing for me. Let me know if they change by more than ten percent.” The medic had already cut away Anderson’s anorak and unstrapped his body armor. With great care, Rachel unbuttoned and opened the front of his tunic. She stopped and raised an eyebrow at what she saw
, but her calm demeanor didn’t change. After giving the patient a thorough inspection, she gently rested her hands on his extended arms and closed her eye, doing something or looking for something. Lee turned away again when she cut off a patch of Anderson’s shirt and started an IV. “Keep this higher than he is, please,” she requested of her assistant. “McHenry, once you have Nguen stabilized, I need your steady hands, please, and your airway kit.”
Aside from the half-voiced words among the soldiers and the rustle of heather and other plants blowing in the cold wind, it was quiet on the moor. Too quiet, really. Lee’s radio crackled, making him jump a little. “Boer Five to Boer One, over,” Cpl. Lee called.
“Go ahead, Boer Five.”
“Boer One, have you established contact with Manx One, over?”
Sergeant Lee automatically glanced over towards Rachel. “Affirmative.”
Audible relief mixed with trepidation in the Singaporean soldier’s voice. “Boer One, be advised that the Regulars have noted Manx One’s absence, over.”
Too bad for them, Lee thought, before keying his microphone. “Understood, Boer Five.”
“Roger. Boer Five clear.”
“Boer One clear.” The NCO went over to the improvised medical area. Rachel was talking quietly with Lee’s medic. “Report?” Lee inquired.
Sgt. McHenry shook her head. “We need to get Anderson to a hospital as soon as possible, First. Cpl. Nguen can wait a bit, but both need burn treatment, and we don’t have the materials here. Anderson’s airway is compromised,” the medic explained.
“We knocked him out,” Rachel added. “And we’re keeping him breathing, but he really needs to get onto a ventilator about five minutes ago, Boer One. Call medevac is my recommendation.”
A recommendation like that from Commander Na Gael was effectively an order in Lee’s opinion.
“Boer One to Shepherd One,” he called in. “Code red.”
Lt. Gretchkaninov replied instantly. “Go ahead Boer One.”
“Boer One has a situation. Code red, code yellow for evacuation, over.”
“Understand two for evacuation, code red and code yellow.” There was a pause, then she came back, “from current location, over?”
Lee noted Rachel and McHenry’s emphatic nods. “Current location, affirmative. Boer One.”
“Transportation is en route. Shepherd One clear.”
“Boer One clear.” As he released the frequency, motion on the small rise north of their position caught his eye. It was his observer. Lee activated the magnification on his helmet’s monocular. The trooper signaled, “Target resuming activity.” Lee acknowledged the warning and began moving toward the out-watcher’s position. As he did, Commander Na Gael gave him a reassuring smile. Despite himself Lee felt better about things, even exploding puddles that should not exist. With that in mind, he eased in beside Cpl. Schneider.
The pond was steaming again, filling the low area with yellow-tinged white vapor. That didn’t seem right, Lee, thought, frowning. “Water vapor condenses, falling to the ground as rain or snow. Solar energy causes the moisture to evaporate, rising until it reaches . . .” he dimly heard one of his secondary school teachers droning on in his memory. If it was steam, it should be rising. The tall, lean sergeant pulled out an optical level and studied the terrain around the pond. The good news was that he and his out-watcher were on the highest bit of the land that surrounded the vapor, not counting a single stone tor at their three o’clock. However, he noticed a little crease off to his left that seemed to curve back toward where the scouts waited. The east wind could push whatever the stuff was down that channel and toward his people.
He snaked back from the crest of the hillock and got to his feet. He heard the faint sound of rotors and decided that it was past time to call in a serious force. As far as he was concerned, this was no longer a training exercise. Lee saw Rachel at the base of the rise, looking at the little low area that he’d noticed, and he went to her. “I strongly recommend that you evacuate and call in reinforcements, Sergeant,” she began. Her accent was stronger than he’d heard in a while, and the NCO’s hackles rose. The small woman turned to face him and Lee bit back a startled noise. She was not herself—literally. He’d seen that cold, strange look on her once before, in Wales, when they were dealing with some extraterrestrials who’d been working with Islamist allies, and he suddenly wished Sgt. Morgan St. John had not gone on pre-retirement leave.
“Do you know what we’re dealing with, ma’am?”
“Not yet. But they are here, on this island, and tampering with what is not theirs.” Before he could ask for more details, she planted her walking cane in the soft ground and braced, eye shut as she concentrated on something. Or Something concentrated through her, Lee remembered with a shiver. He called in his scouts and ordered them back to the vehicles, all but three and Sgt. McHenry. Would the rotorwash from the arriving medical helicopter suck in the mystery fog or push it away? Something to keep in mind, he thought, as he watched Cpl. Zon directing the medevac bird down to the designated LZ. As soon as the wheels touched ground, two soldiers helped Cpl. Nguen into the bird, while the medics carefully loaded Anderson onto a stretcher.
“Go with them, McHenry,” Lee ordered. “We’ve got Manx One if we need someone.”
“Wilco, First,” she replied crisply, trotting after her patients. The helicopter leapt into the cold winter air, and Lee turned to find that Rachel had climbed up the hillock. She crouched down, apparently studying the mysterious fog. He started to call to her, but before he could she straightened up, rising to her full height, and then limped downhill.
“Let’s not linger, shall we?” A trace of oddness remained in her face and voice, but much less than a few minutes before. “Is Sgt. McHenry with the injured?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lee affirmed. He tipped his head towards their departure route. Rachel accepted her satchel from one of the troopers and fell in with them, her head up and in constant motion, sniffing the wind. Although her leg was bothering her, she pushed to keep up with the others while still monitoring the strange energies moving around them. Once again, Logres had redirected the power stream back into the channels it had chosen, this time putting a “dam” of sorts to keep that particular thread from flowing back into the pond.
“Who has my sensor pack?” She inquired after a bit.
There was some glancing about before Cpl. Thad Jackson handed it to her. “Lou Nguen had it, but I took it when he was medevacked out,” the American explained.
“Good call.” She smiled, then raised her voice a little. “For future reference, if I ask you to carry a sensor or gauge for me, please keep it in the field if you can unless I ask for it or give instructions otherwise. That said, if it’s a life-and-death emergency, don’t bother trying to pass the box off—just shoot or run.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Or both.”
When they were just under a kilometer from the security perimeter an apologetic voice emerged from Lee’s radio. “Boer One, Boer Five.”
“Boer Five, go ahead.”
“Boer One, be advised that Shepherd One and Command Two are here. And that Blocker Three has an arrest order for Manx One.”
“Understood. Boer One clear.”
“Boer Five clear.”
First Sergeant Lee dropped back to where Rachel was limping. “Ah, apparently you are going to be arrested once we clear the security perimeter,” he informed her.
The Wanderer shook her head, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a wise-ass grin. “I suppose I really should have paid those library fines,” she sighed. “Or is it from that bar fight? No, Mr. Underhill said that was taken care of and next time not to wait for the first punch.” Despite her light words, Rachel kept looking around and sniffing the air, alert for trouble. “Arrest by whom, First? Or did the message specify?”
“Army, ma’am.” He stopped as the first scout in line raised her hand, signaling something of interest ahead. Lee accelerated his pace a
nd Rachel matched it, coming even with the sergeant on point. “What’s that?” Lee signed to Rachel.
She had her sensor box out and was tapping buttons along the edge of the metal frame, frowning as she read the symbols on the display. “It seems to be a side effect of the process that created your attack-pond, Sergeant Lee,” she replied under her breath. The vegetation ahead of them appeared scorched. It was another low place, shallower than where the pond had been, though equally broad. She advanced slowly to the edge of the toasted bracken and crouched, plucking up a handful before returning to the others. “See anything odd? Besides the scorch.”
Sergeant Havel pointed to the bottom of the stems. “They burned from the underneath. And we didn’t see any smoke, which we should have since this wind would fan flames in such dry material.” He mimicked how the winter air rushed through the depression.
Corporal Jackson added, “All the rest of the plants are damp on the bottom, not dry, ma’am.”
Commander Na Gael smiled broadly, then sobered. “Very, very good. You are both correct, which means that something quite wrong is happening, as we already know. I recommend going around.” She gestured with her stick toward the upwind edge of the basin.
Lee gestured for the advance to resume, and the scouts made their careful way around the scorched area. As Boer Five had warned, a rather impressive welcome committee awaited the returning soldiers. A very relieved Sgt. Lee spotted Col. Desta Selassie looming over an Army captain, apparently having serious words with the other officer. The tall Ethiopian woman turned, saw the scouts and broke off her conversation.
Commander Na Gael hung back as several Army soldiers approached the GDF squad. Without Lee, Major Thorsten Sigurdson, or Col. Selassie uttering a word, four of the scouts formed up around their advisor, sending a very obvious message to the “receiving party.” Col. Selassie’s voice was equally clear as she stated, “The arrest order is countermanded. Commander Na Gael was and is acting under orders from General Khan and me.” She turned to the scouts. “Report, First Sergeant Lee.”