Op File Revenge

by J. Clifton Slater

  Her Uncle took a sip of coffee and smiled as he lowered the cup. The Marine across the table from him was a pleasant transition from the sullen teenage girl. After her mother’s death, Natalie had lost interest in activities and her conversation was limited to grunts or two-word replies. Then when the notice about Wesley’s death reached her, she fell into a visible depression. Now, the girl carried on a lively conversation of stories about Marine Corps training and her classmates.

  “No, she can’t,” her Uncle said. “When I was in the Navy, my favorite time was being alone. You live in tight quarters, eat on a mess deck with a hundred people, and you get sick of the crowd. Of course, you can use the truck and the dirt bike.”

  After breakfast, Natalie’s Uncle helped load the dirt bike onto the bed of the pickup. With Pierre in the passenger side, she drove him to school then crossed town to her high school.

  “Certainly, you can check out your kite,” the coach assured her. “I’ve left it in your name and in your locker until the end of the semester. But if you’re going off free kiting, take these wire cutters. I once got caught in a tree and the cutters saved my life.”

  “You could have cut the guide lines with a knife,” Natalie commented.

  “Oh, the cutters were for the tree limbs,” the coach explained. “I wasn’t about to damage my kite.”

  Natalie powered down her PID before driving off the school grounds.

  ***

  She nosed the pickup off the road and slowly plowed aside the branches on the old logging road. Once deep enough in, so no one would stumble on it, she unloaded the dirt bike and a plastic sack of power bars with two bottles of water. With the bike and supplies hidden in deep brush, Natalie backed the pickup to the main road and headed west.

  Slowing down as she passed the mysterious dirt road, Natalie examined the barrier across the well-used track. A sign announced the road was closed for traffic due to logging operations.

  ‘Logging operations?’ thought Natalie. ‘With no satellite map of the area. Not likely. It’s got to be the Constabulary holding compound.”

  Eight kilometers further west, she turned off on another overgrown track, and eased the pickup deep into the woods.

  ***

  Thanks to her land navigation training, Natalie easily maintained an east by southeast direction through the woods. The backpack with the grenades, the magazine and the kite didn’t weigh much but the afternoon wind began and Natalie stumbled. When the wind hit full force, she unslung her rifle, dropped the backpack and sheltered in the leeward side of a depression. Three hours later, as the main mass of violent winds ended, she stood up, shouldered her equipment and continued her hike.

  The sunlight cast long shadows across open areas and spread darkness under the trees. In the fading light, she located the dirt road. Using her infiltration training, she stayed five meters off the track and stuck to the woods as she followed it southward.

  Natalie wasn’t sure what she expected but the huge dark dome shocked her. Topping out at the height of the surrounding forest, the structure emitted no light although Natalie could see smoked glass wrapping around a section of the roof. A tall wire fence ringed the dome and met a second wire fence at the front. The double fence encased a one-story structure butted against the dome.

  Seven meters from the single story and at the end of the fencing, rested a small guard booth. Beyond the booth and across a sparsely used parking lot, were three temporary barrack buildings. Everything faded as night crept in except for a single light bulb at the guard booth. In the illumination, she could make out a single Marine standing his post.

  Natalie backed deeper into the woods and climbed a hill. By feel, she located an evergreen tree and crawled beneath the thick branches. After dropping her pack and rifle, she climbed up the tree. Where the branches tapered, she straddled two limbs and with a slight adjustment, regained a view of the guard post. A long time after reaching her perch, three Marines appeared in the pool of light.

  One Marine replaced the guard and the three marched to the building. Shortly after, three Marines marched out of the building. Custom dictated that one of the three was the off-duty guard. That meant there were possibly two on duty in the building. But If one was the duty NCO, he may have a post in the barracks leaving only one in the building. Natalie marked the time and climbed down. After a few hours of sleep, she climbed up and watched for the next changing of the guard.

  ***

  In the early evening of the next day, as the winds tore through the forest, Natalie crouched under the vibrating evergreen tree. By her observations she had two hours until the next guard rotation and three before the wind died down. With the blowing wind as cover, Natalie slid down the hill and circled out of view of the guard shack and approached the fence from the dark side of the dome.

  Eight snips of the wire fence and she shoved the backpack and the rifle through the opening. Staying low, she edged around the dome until she reached the fence post next to the one-story building. Five snips and a gap opened in the interior fence. Natalie checked her goggles, kite rider’s face mask, and tightened down her boonie cap. Then she eased between the gap in the fence.

  ***

  The Marine on duty watched the video feed from inside the Constabulary Troop holding area. He didn’t think anything about the door opening. Sometimes the Sergeant paid them unexpected visits. When no one called out he raised up to look over the counter.

  A rifle barrel poked him in the forehead and he raised his arms. Before he could think, the rifle reversed and the buttstock slammed into the side of his head.

  “Sorry Marine,” mouthed Natalie as she stepped behind the counter and examined the video screens.

  Huge males stood around looking up. Every so often, one would lash out and pound another of the males on the side of his head.

  ‘Just like the injury that killed Wesley,’ Natalie thought. ‘It’s time you paid for that mistake.’

  After dropping her pack near an interior security door, she fished out the two WP grenades and placed them on the floor. Then she pocketed the fragmentation grenades and inserted the magazine in the rifle. She took a deep breath, chambered the first round and opened the door.

  To her surprise the door led to an airlock chamber. Five steps away, another security door blocked access to the Constabulary. It was slight and Natalie almost missed the flow of air that rushed by her to fill the chamber. She surged forward and shoved open the second security door. Suddenly, the air rushing by her propelled her four steps forward and into a room filled with the big men.

  Natalie Harleen had come for revenge. Without hesitating, she leveled her rifle and began three round bursts. On the final shot, the bolt locked back and she let the rifle hang from the sling while she dug out the grenades.

  One pin came free, then the second. That’s when something impacted with her knee and her leg folded up. Glancing down as she involuntarily knelt, she saw an unlabeled plastic food container. Amazingly, one of them had taken her off her feet with a plastic container.

  The Constabulary had flinched back from the bullets and the cycling of the rounds. Now, with the weapon silenced and their assailant down on one knee, several of the unwounded shoved aside the injured preparing to run forward.

  Natalie noticed the moves and responded by holding the spoons. The grenades separated, bounced and rolled across the floor. Yells of panic, at the sight of the grenades, gave her time to race to the security door. Once that door was locked, she ran for the next one. Not bothering to engage the second locking mechanism, Natalie dropped the grenade spoons into the pack, slung on the backpack, and scooped up the white phosphorus grenades. From beyond the security door, the sounds of two loud explosions reached her. She smiled as she crossed the building and approached the front door.

  ***

  She placed a white phosphorus grenade beside the threshold and pulled the pin. As smoke billowed and a blinding white spark flared, Natalie opened the door and kicked the
grenade onto the walkway. The billowing fog was sucked away by the wind but the burning white-hot center cast light as if it was the center of the sun. Natalie followed it through the doorway. Outside, while keeping her head turned and eyes closed, she tossed the last WP grenade. Smoke and light as bright as two welder’s arcs obscured the view of the walkway leading to the door of the one-story building.

  Voices hollered calling for Marines to get on line. As they urged the squad to form up, Natalie slipped through the first fence. Scurrying away from the light, she reached the darkness and the other opening. By the time the squad began its blind assault down the walkway between the two fences, Private First Class Harleen had crawled under the loose section of the exterior fence. While running for the rear of the dome, she reached back and tugged her kite from the backpack.

  With a control handle in each hand, she shook out the airfoil and let the wind fill the fabric. Once she rounded the west edge of the dome, the unchecked wind jolted her shoulders as she was lifted off the ground.

  The shadowy tops of trees bent from the rush of air came at her. Natalie pulled her legs up and pressed down with her hands. In the kneeling position, she soared over the trees. As the ground fell away, she adjusted to a northeast direction and let her legs dangle.

  Because her hands were occupied, she couldn’t see her compass. But she had a sense of the direction and guessed at the distance. Twice she lost forward momentum and was forced to touch down and chase another of the dissipating currents of wind. On her last landing, she collapsed the airfoil and stuffed it in her pack.

  Navigating by the stars and with the compass, she located the old logging road. In the middle of the night, she took time to wash down the energy bars before firing up the dirt bike. Two hours later, she pulled up beside her Uncle’s pickup. There she changed clothes, rolled the dirt bike into the bed of the truck, and backed the pickup to the main road. Long before first light, Natalie rolled through town on the way to her Aunt and Uncle’s house.

  She looked forward to a nice breakfast and a friendly conversation. While Natalie turned on the road towards the house and relaxed, at the Constabulary Troop compound, no one relaxed.

  ***

  “Clear ma’am,” announced the Sergeant. “But we’ll need more medics with knowledge of the Troops’ physiology.”

  “How bad is it?” General Tuulia asked as she marched up the walkway towards the single-story building.

  “Five dead, two critical and minor injuries to a half dozen more,” the Sergeant reported.

  “Get a message to agent Lieke Steyn at G.C.I.I.A.,” Tuulia ordered. “Tell him I need a team here tonight. And put out patrols. This has to be Empress sympathizers. There could be more out there planning another attack.”

  “We have three roving patrols and five Marines stations at the entrance, ma’am,” the Sergeant advised Tuulia. “We’re ready if they try.”

  The General entered the building, detoured to a side room for an oxygen mask, and stepped into the airlock chamber. Once out the other side, she gasped at the rich red of the blood spattered across the prisoner’s breakroom. And the disgusting collection of food the Troops used for pillows when they napped.

  Her doctor and the medic, who had been trained on treating the half alien soldiers, were bent over one. Between the pair doing emergency surgery and the rest of the room stood a squad of Marines. The positioning was necessary as on the other side of the room the Constabulary Troops bunched together preparing to attack.

  “Stand down,” Tuulia barked as she pulled off her oxygen mask. “What happened here?”

  A Troop broke from the cluster, lumbered across the room, and stopped dangerously close to the line of Marines. He looked over their heads and down at Tuulia.

  “One of yours attacked us,” his voice rumbled from deep in his chest. He raised and stretched out his arms above shoulder height. “War. If you want war? We are ready.”

  It was a challenge. Everything the Troops did was a challenge. Their alpha based society required a leader. Once one rose to take on the mantel, the others would mindlessly follow. This one, if left unchecked, would cause a riot and Marines and Troops would die. From experience, General Kaisa Tuulia knew she couldn’t show doubt or hesitate. Charging forward, she raised her arms and, roughly, shoved aside two Marines. Stepping through the gap, the tall, lean former Navy navigator placed the brim of her cover against the massive chest.

  When Tuulia moved, her bodyguard Sergeant thumbed off the safety and adjusted her rifle. In a millisecond, and hopefully fast enough to save the General’s life, the NCO could shoot the Troop in the face.

  “I asked a question,” growled Tuulia. Her mouth just a breath away from the skin and muscles of the half alien. His thick arms hovered threateningly above the General. “I did not open the floor for a debate. Get back and tell me what happened.”

  The Sergeant’s trigger finger twitched and she fought the urge to kill the Troop before he smashed the General to the floor. But she’d witnessed this high wire act many times and, in every case, EOS, Eye of the Storm Tuulia, had regained control. Although it was never a forgone conclusion that the General would walk away uninjured or alive.

  Reacting to the softly spoken orders, the Troop lowered his arms and bent at the waist to better hear. The Sergeant relaxed a little. Lowering the arms and bending were submissive actions. Once the Troop acknowledged Tuulia as the leader the danger should pass. Except his upper body towered over the General and cast a shadow over the woman.

  “Was I not clear?” demanded Tuulia as if having a man with the mass of a side of water buffalo meat hovering over her was unimpressive. “Step back. Report!”

  Finally, the Troop placed a foot back, then another. After three paces he stopped.

  “One of yours,” he began when Tuulia shot an arm out and pointed a finger at the Troops face.

  “I asked for a report not your conclusions,” she directed. “Description. Movement. Timing.”

  “We celebrated the howl of the wind. Door opened, and a Traveler, dressed in your Marine’s clothing entered,” the Troop explained using Traveler to describe a Realm citizen. “A rifle and one magazine and two grenades. Then the coward fled before fighting.”

  The Empress supporters who survived the exile journey to a distant galaxy were known to the Troops as Travelers. When her forces returned to attack the Galactic Council Realm, their descendants made up the Royal Constabulary Officer’s Corps. The Troops carried half the Travelers’ DNA and half that of a wild race of beings from the far-off world. Describing the attacker as a Traveler wasn’t helpful except to eliminate an attack by the Empress’ military.

  “The attacker was not one of my Marines,” declared General Tuulia. “I will find out who and they will be punished. I will also double the guards. You will not be attacked again.”

  Having made the definitive statement, Tuulia spun around and marched to the airlock. Her bodyguard Sergeant followed. As soon as the security door was closed, Tuulia collapsed.

  “I forget how little oxygen there is in the compound,” Tuulia said as the NCO settled the mask over her General’s face. “I barely made it out of there without fainting.”

  “Another great performance, ma’am,” the Sergeant assured her as she helped Tuulia to her feet.

  “I often wonder when the curtain will drop on my head during one of the performances,” confessed Tuulia as she sucked hard on the oxygen mask.

  They passed through the second security door and the sounds of helicopters landing reached them.

  “Good, Agent Steyn is here,” Tuulia announced as she walked into the supply room. With a last deep inhale on the mask, she hung up the oxygen rig and marched to the front door.

  ***

  “It had to be organized,” commented Lieke Steyn, the agent from the Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency. “My people had only been gone for two days.”

  “That’s how I see it,” Tuulia agreed. “I want a change of routine
. The next time you pull your shift for an information debrief, I want them replaced with agency shooters. I have Marines. But, they are subject to the Uniformed Code of Military Justice and might pause and wait for orders.”

  “I can do that,” Steyn promised. “Our work here has yielded some good information on the enemy. Unfortunately, this will set us back. It’ll take time to regain the Troops’ trust.”

  “In the morning, I’d like a search of the surrounding area,” Tuulia added.

  Steyn stood up and walked across the General’s office. Built like a bodybuilder, the agent moved with fluid grace as if he was a much lighter man. At the window, he looked across the dark parking lot to the light at the guard shack.

  “I’ll need four of your squads with my agents,” Steyn informed the General. “We’ll sweep the perimeter out to five or six kilometers to be sure there’s not a base camp nearby.”

  Chapter – 4 Call Sign Warlock

  Warlock strained. Her face displayed the struggle with the sweat running down her shoulders testifying to her exertion. Slowly, the bands stretched and the bar rose over her head.

  “One more,” urged the physical therapist. “Just one more.”

  Bringing the bar to her shoulders, Diosa gritted her teeth and pressed the bar up level with her forehead. It paused as if a ceiling blocked any further ascent.

  “That works for me,” the therapist said.

  “Not for me,” Diosa Alberich replied as the bar rose even as her body shook with stress.

  Once her arms were fully extended, Warlock allowed the bar to come back to her shoulders. Releasing the bar, she swung her legs over the bench, grabbed a towel and mopped the sweat from her face.

  “Very impressive, Master Sergeant,” a voice announced as boots tapped across the deck in her direction.

  Looking around the damp towel, Warlock spotted the Marine staff officer.

  “General Tuulia. Good morning, ma’am,” Diosa said as she rose to her feet. “Is there a problem?”

  “Why else would I seek out an elite Striker Team Leader?” inquired the General.