Fortress Frontier (Shadow Ops 2)

by Cole, Myke

Crucible nodded. ‘Concur. Dhatri said their FOB doesn’t have a runway, so there’s no place for a fixed-wing to land anyway.’

  ‘And my guess is that the terrain between here and the Indian FOB doesn’t even have unimproved dirt roads. It’s broken by rivers, uneven ground, woods. Even a Stryker couldn’t handle it.’

  Crucible kept nodding.

  ‘So we’re going to have to walk.’

  Crucible swore under his breath. ‘That’s one hell of a walk.’

  ‘And we’re going to need to move fast. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. So, I want to keep the team small, light, and able to handle anything we come across. Now, I’m assuming that Sorcerers are at as much of a premium as aircraft?’

  ‘More,’ Crucible said. ‘With supply cut off, magic is the only renewable resource this base has. Every Sorcerer you take lowers the survivability by an order of magnitude.’

  ‘Which is why I’ll only take one. Well, apart from me. That’ll be the heart of the team.’

  ‘And that would be?’

  ‘Myself, Vasuki-Kai, and Dhatri. One Terramancer. Four enlisted. One medic. One NCO, two scout/snipers. I want you to pick ’em, Rick. The best we’ve got.’

  ‘Jesus. That’s not even a platoon.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be. You’ve seen what I can do. I don’t know about Dhatri, but Vasuki-Kai is probably good for ten to twenty goblins on his own. A Terramancer can make sure we’re fed and have eyes around us. Rick, I know some of our people practice Whispering on their own. Find me one of those. They get amnesty. I don’t care if it’s illegal, I’m making the call. Find someone who understands that.’

  Crucible crossed his arms over his chest. ‘This is stupid, Alan.’

  ‘Fine, but it’s also an order, and you’re going to see to it. I am going to fix this, Rick. I am going to fucking fix this, or I am going to die trying. And you’re going to help me.’

  Crucible met his eyes and held them. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Um . . . there’s one other thing,’ Bookbinder said into the silence that followed. He reached into his desk drawer, removed an envelope, and handed it across the desk to Crucible.

  The Pyromancer made no move to take it. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know what it is. I’d save an email in my drafts folder if I thought there was a chance in hell we’d have comms back home anytime soon. It’s for my wife and kids. If I don’t make it back, see that they get this when you get reconnected to the Home Plane.’

  Crucible nodded, took the letter, and folded it in half, tucking it into a pocket on his cargo pants. ‘You’re making it back, sir. You owe me.’

  Bookbinder cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘I owe you?’

  ‘You want me to run this place so you can run off and play some combo game of diplomat-hero? Well, you drive the big car, and I drive the little car. But this is a shit job, and you’re just sticking me with it so you can have an adventure. The least you can do is write me a weekend pass and put me in for a commendation. Hell, maybe a letter to the promotion board. If you’re dead, you won’t be able to put in the paperwork. That would just be wrong.’

  Bookbinder snorted. ‘Yeah, I guess it would.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Crucible found Bookbinder standing beside one of the new Terramantic gardens that Woon had ordered set up, his head craned skyward. A roc circled overhead. A quarter klick away by the perimeter, booms sounded, indicating the start of another attack.

  The lieutenant colonel jogged forward but stopped short of Bookbinder. ‘Sir! The air defenses . . .’

  ‘I ordered them shut off here.’

  ‘Wha . . . why?’

  ‘I’m practicing.’

  A goblin Terramancer snugged to the back of the roc’s neck. The basket on its back held three goblins. One of them was painted fully white, his hands extended above his head, bursting into flame. As Crucible watched, the goblin Pyromancer extended his hands and a gout of fire arced earthward, scouring the garden, turning most of it to ash. The roc swept past and began to circle back for another pass. Soldiers gathered around them, pointing weapons skyward, clearly itching to shoot but under orders not to. Bookbinder could feel the tension in their trigger fingers as clearly as any magical current.

  ‘Sir!’ Crucible said again.

  ‘One more pass,’ Bookbinder said. ‘Almost got it.’

  The roc came back around, descending. The Pyromancer leaned over the basket’s edge, sighting down at Bookbinder and the growing knot of people around him. He pumped a fist, fire swirling about his head and shoulders.

  ‘Christ!’ Crucible shouted. ‘Incoming! Scatter!’

  The Pyromancer reached forward, the flames forming another deadly pillar.

  And then winked out.

  Bookbinder threw his head back, the muscles in his back clenching. ‘Fuuuuuuck,’ he said, then threw his doubled current outward.

  The roc, the basket, the goblins all burst into flame. The huge bird screamed in agony. One of the goblins jumped from the basket, beating at the flames, plummeting to the ground. The roc flapped madly, trying to gain altitude, trailing greasy smoke from its wing tips, throwing the Terramancer from its back. He followed his fellows to the ground, screaming all the way down.

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ Bookbinder said, bending over, hands on his knees, panting. ‘Put ’em out of their misery.’ At least twenty carbines opened up, followed by the howling torrents of the air-defense systems. Within moments, the roc and its passengers were wet ribbons, slowly drifting earthward.

  Bookbinder arched an eyebrow at Crucible. ‘Guess it works on more than just inanimate objects, huh?’

  Crucible stood dumbstruck. ‘Guess it does, sir.’

  ‘Still worried about me leading the team?’

  Crucible shrugged and gestured to the woman beside him. ‘You remember Major Woon, sir.’

  Bookbinder straightened and looked at the Terramancer, with her gray-streaked hair and serious expression. ‘I do remember. You’ve been doing a fine job with the gardens, Major. I’m sorry this one got a little cooked.’

  ‘That’s fine, sir. We can regrow it.’

  Bookbinder’s gaze traveled down to the ground. A small fox-looking creature sat there. It had huge ears and intelligent eyes. Its front legs ended in human-looking hands.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘We don’t have a name for it, sir. But they’re fairly common around the FOB,’ Woon said.

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Bookbinder said.

  ‘I know, sir,’ Woon said. ‘Yes, I have it Whispered.’

  Bookbinder crossed his arms. ‘You are a very naughty major, you know that?’

  Woon colored. ‘Sir, Crucible assured me that amnesty would be granted for . . .’

  ‘At ease. He told you right. I just . . . I didn’t suspect it from you.’

  Woon cocked her head. ‘Why is that, sir?’

  ‘You seem so . . . by the book. Serious. I’d never pegged you as a lawbreaker. I mean, I’m glad you are, but I’m surprised.’

  Woon shrugged.

  ‘You don’t even go by your call sign,’ Bookbinder said.

  Woon shrugged again. ‘I’ve been supply all my career, sir. When I came up Latent, that didn’t change. Most Terramancers are guys, so I never really fit in anyway.’

  ‘What is your call sign, anyway?’ Bookbinder asked.

  ‘Branchmender, sir.’ Crucible answered for her.

  ‘I hate it, sir,’ Woon said.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Bookbinder said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Crucible cleared his throat. ‘Woon’s your Terramancer, sir. For the mission to FOB Sarpakavu.’

  ‘FOB . . . FOB what?’

  ‘The Indian FOB, sir. That’s what they call it.’

  ‘Woon is . . . ? No. I need you running the Terramantic austerity measures here,’ Bookbinder said.

  ‘Major Woon has a talented XO, sir,’ Crucible replied. ‘A c
aptain of real ability who she has fully briefed on your intentions regarding the austerity measures. Both Major Woon and I have complete confidence in his ability to get the job done and done right, sir.’

  ‘Sir,’ Major Woon added, ‘if there’s a chance to save this installation, then I want to be a part of it. Not to glory-hound, but I am one of the most able Terramancers on this base, and definitely the best Whisperer outside of Umbra Coven.’

  Bookbinder stared at her, and some of Woon’s nervousness returned. ‘Sir,’ she added.

  ‘Sir,’ Crucible added, ‘Major Woon is following your excellent example of stepping up to the mission while simultaneously delegating authority to a competent subordinate.’

  Bookbinder chuckled. ‘Touché.’

  ‘You told me to get you the best,’ Crucible said. ‘This is it.’

  ‘High praise,’ Bookbinder said. ‘Very well. I guess you’re hired.’

  It took Woon a moment to suppress the smile that spread across her face, transforming her from tired woman to young girl. ‘You won’t regret it, sir.’

  ‘Here’s your enlisted compliment, sir.’ Crucible gestured behind him at four men who looked as if they’d stepped out of an action film. Their leader, a sergeant first class, looked every inch the Spaghetti Western desperado, complete with flint gray eyes and a day’s growth of stubble on his chiseled jaw. The next two looked like they could bend cold iron with their bare hands, their hair cropped Marine Corps short and their biceps straining the cuffed sleeves of their uniforms. The remaining soldier was noticeably shorter, had let his hair grow so long it bordered on insubordinate. He was thin in comparison to the rest, but his eyes were like his comrades’, calm, alert, focused. Killer’s eyes. All four men wore special forces tabs on their shoulders.

  ‘Sergeant First Class Sharp is your noncom, sir,’ Crucible said. ‘Specialists Fillion and Anan are your shooters.’ He gestured to the shorter man. ‘This is Specialist Archer. Best medic they’ve got. Sharp, Fillion, and Anan ran an op with Oscar Britton before he escaped. They got a little banged up, but are back on the line now. Like Major Woon, they requested this assignment as soon as I put the word out. They come with impeccable credentials.’

  Bookbinder nodded, noting their professional nonchalance. ‘They look tough.’

  ‘Toughest we’ve got, sir. If there are operators who can get this job done, they’re it.’

  Sharp and his men said nothing. There was no bravado, no false modesty. They stood with folded arms, waiting for orders.

  ‘All right,’ Bookbinder said. ‘I guess that’s that. Now all we have to do is contact Dhatri and . . .’

  ‘Sir.’ Dhatri’s voice reached him. Bookbinder turned to see the subedar major, the towering naga trailing in his wake, hissing urgently.

  He halted a few paces away and cracked a British-style salute, palm outward. Bookbinder returned it in American fashion and smiled. ‘Speak of the devil, Subedar Major. We were just talking about you.’

  Dhatri puffed, looking harried. Vasuki-Kai hissed loudly, pointing first at him, then at Bookbinder.

  ‘Sir,’ Dhatri said. ‘I apologize for coming unannounced, but His Highness is most insistent. He says that time is growing short and demands that you outfit an expedition to FOB Sarpakavu immediately.’

  Bookbinder laughed. Crucible and Woon grinned. Even the corners of Sharp’s mouth rose a bit.

  Dhatri’s expression hovered between shock and anger. Vasuki-Kai rolled his shoulders back, his heads darting upward, looking in all directions at once in apparent confusion. He hissed an interrogative.

  ‘His Highness demands to know what it is you are finding so funny.’

  It was a moment before Bookbinder could answer. ‘Please apologize to His Highness on my behalf, Subedar Major. It’s just that we were about to come find you to inform you that we have assembled a team and are preparing to depart for your FOB.’

  Dhatri looked mollified. ‘Very good, sir. Where is this team?’

  Bookbinder swept an arm backward, indicated Woon, Sharp, and his men. ‘Here it is. I’ll be leading it personally.’

  Vasuki-Kai paused before tentatively hissing.

  ‘His Highness says this is a very small team.’

  Bookbinder nodded. ‘Which is why I respectfully request that His Highness and his Bandhav accompany us. We leave tomorrow at dawn.’

  Crucible met Bookbinder in his office long after dark. Bookbinder had been racing to complete preparations before departing, an act he apparently planned to accomplish on no sleep at all, despite Crucible’s fervent protests. A lieutenant entered at Crucible’s side. She was nervous, all of maybe twenty-three years old, her uniform looking a size too big for her.

  ‘This is Lieutenant Ripple, sir.’ Crucible gestured to the young woman stood at attention.

  ‘At ease, Lieutenant,’ Bookbinder said, and turned shadowed eyes to her. ‘Ripple a call sign or your name?’

  ‘Both, sir,’ she answered. She gestured to her Hydromancer’s lapel pin. ‘The guys thought it appropriate when I came up Latent.’

  Bookbinder chuckled. ‘Well, okay, I was—’

  ‘You want me to be on the team, sir?’ Ripple cut him off, then put a hand over her eyes. ‘Sorry, sir, I’m . . . uh . . . enthusiastic sometimes.’

  Bookbinder chuckled again. ‘It’s fine, Lieutenant, but no. I need all hands on deck here, especially folks with your abilities. The FOB has to hold, and clean water is going to be critical to that particular mission.’

  ‘It’s going to be critical to your mission, too,’ Crucible added. ‘I was thinking you’d decided to take a Hydromancer when you asked me to bring Lieutenant Ripple to see you.’

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ Bookbinder said, reaching behind his desk and lifting a plastic bucket of water with a grunt. ‘Heavy,’ he said, setting it on the desk. The water’s surface was rank, with particles of mud and algae swirling across it. A foul odor wafted through the room.

  Crucible wrinkled his nose. ‘What’s this for?’

  Bookbinder gestured to Ripple. ‘You can clean that up, right? Make it drinkable?’

  Ripple didn’t blink. ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘How? What exactly is your magic doing when you clean water?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, sir. I don’t mess with the dirt and bacteria, that’s a Terramancer’s job. I sort of . . . call the water itself forth from that, separate it out. What you wind up with is just pure water. No contaminants. That’s the short answer, anyway.’

  ‘That’s the answer I wanted,’ Bookbinder said, pulling a short piece of rebar from his pocket and holding it over the bucket. ‘Okay, use your magic to clean the water in this bucket.’

  Ripple shrugged and held out a hand. Bookbinder placed one of his hands over her own and shut his eyes, concentrating. The water in the bucket began to bubble for a short moment before petering out, the slime on the surface reconstituting.

  Ripple’s eyes widened. ‘Sir, what are you . . .’

  ‘Keep going!’ Bookbinder interrupted her. ‘Finish the spell. This won’t hurt you, I promise.’

  Ripple’s eyes remained wide and fixed on Bookbinder, but she complied.

  After a moment, Bookbinder grunted in satisfaction. He hefted the piece of rebar, unchanged. ‘Well, let’s hope this works.’

  He waved away Crucible’s question and dropped the piece of metal into the bucket. He stared at it with folded arms, not breathing.

  ‘Sir, enough of the dance-of-a-thousand-veils act. What’s the point of this exercise?’

  ‘The point,’ Bookbinder said, looking up, ‘is to leave you with as many Sorcerers as possible. And I do believe I have just succeeded in that very objective.’

  He gestured back down at the bucket, full to the brim with potable water, clear and sparkling under the fluorescent office lights.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Move Out

  Magic has been good to us. Kashmir is back where it belongs. Relations with the
Chinese have warmed into the partnership we had always hoped they would eventually become. India has taken her rightful place as the major player in Asia that we have sought to be since we won our independence. But this is not the greatest thing it has done for us. The Great Reawakening has done nothing less than unite us with our traditions, and the deities that passed them along to us millennia ago. India is, quite literally, a nation that has at long last come home.

  – Madhav Singh, Minister Arcane, Republic of India

  Bookbinder sank into his body armor, letting the huge rucksack slung over his shoulders absorb the shuddering of the helicopter’s airframe. Vasuki-Kai, Dhatri, Woon, Sharp, Fillion, Anan, and Archer all sat uncomfortably on the Chinook’s long benches. The humans looked like camouflage-patterned cauliflower, bulging grotesquely with gear. Outside the helo’s open cargo hatch, two door gunners scanned the airspace and the ground beneath them for threats. Fortunately, they didn’t see any. If the goblins spotted the helo this far out from the FOB, they’d probably be under attack from the moment they landed. They needed time to get clear of the ring of hostile Defender tribes and into the territory beyond. After that, the helo would push them as far as its fuel would allow, saving only the reserves necessary for a safe return to the FOB.

  Bookbinder tried to sleep, resting his helmet brim against the action of the breaching shotgun they’d given him to carry, but it was useless. The giant helo was sensitive to every gust of wind, jostling him awake the moment he thought he might be drifting off. Sharp and his people looked bored. Vasuki-Kai coiled toward the entrance to the cockpit, bent nearly double to accommodate his height, looking like he held court in helicopter cabins every day. Dhatri sat nestled in the coils of his giant tail, looking nervously out the open cargo hatch. Woon had put her goggles over her eyes, leaving the black cloth dustcover in place, hiding her expression. Bookbinder finally gave up on sleeping and sat blinking through his dust goggles as the helo shed speed and altitude, the roaring of the rotors dying down. Sharp and his men advanced to the cargo ramp, weapons at the low ready, while the rest of the group scrambled for their gear.

  At last, the helo touched down with a jolt, and Sharp and his men advanced out of the hatch, guns tracking the perimeter, before taking a knee and giving a hand signal that it was safe to exit. Bookbinder, Woon, and Dhatri shouldered their weighty gear and stumbled out into the saw-toothed grass, rippling in the rotor wash like the green surface of an ocean. Vasuki-Kai followed leisurely behind.