by Cole, Myke
‘I’m talking about a United States military base under siege at this very moment and in danger of being overrun. Last time I checked, any American embassy or military outpost is sovereign soil. Your QRF is needed, and we’re standing here jaw-jacking.’
‘Where?’ Blake’s jowls quivered as he looked from Thorsson to Bookbinder and back.
‘Show him the SASS perimeter,’ Bookbinder said. Britton opened a gate. Through the flickering curtain of light, Bookbinder could see tumbled blocks of masonry, the broken chunks of gabions and blast barricades taken down by magical fire. Dark shapes swarmed in the burning grass beyond. Bookbinder could see a Marine fire team crouching behind an earthen wall, exchanging fire with something beyond it. A SOC Aeromancer streaked overhead, tossing down a grenade from one hand, blazing lightning from the other. Another group of soldiers ran past, then froze, staring at the open gate.
‘That’ – Bookbinder seethed – ‘is what’s left of an entire fucking division, Colonel. We are getting them out of there right now, and you are going to scramble your QRF to provide the rear guard.’
‘I . . . I can’t just . . .’ Blake stammered.
Bookbinder seized the man by his lapels and dragged him so close that he was practically kissing him. ‘What you can’t just do is let a division’s worth of men and women die because you’re worried about the bureaucracy. I am your goddamn authorization. You have the goddamn right hand of the Reawakening Commission standing next to you. These people are out of time, Colonel. I know you thought this assignment meant sitting around with your feet up for a few years, but that just changed. This is what you joined the army for. Now get off your ass and Save. Lives.’
He gave Blake a shake with each of the last two words, then released him. The plump man stood there, bug eyed, so red he bordered on purple, frozen.
‘Colonel Blake,’ Thorsson added. ‘There are Americans dying there. You can choose to save them, or you can choose to worry about your career.’
Blake blinked, rooted to the spot, his eyes still fixed on the gate.
‘Go!’ Bookbinder finally shouted at him, breaking Blake’s paralysis and sending him racing back to the hangar-sized building behind him.
Bookbinder slumped. ‘That’s it.’
‘I don’t think it’ll work,’ Thorsson said.
Bookbinder shook his head. ‘If it doesn’t, I’m all out of ideas.’ He turned to Britton, ‘Get ready to open another gate and get us the hell out of here. What about your indig buddies back there? Would they help?’
Britton frowned. ‘I . . . I think so. It’s their religion to help us, and I’ve seen them fight for us before . . .’
‘But?’ Bookbinder asked.
‘But it’s been a little while since I talked to them.’ He shook his head. ‘They’ll help. I’m sure.’
‘You don’t look sure,’ Thorsson mused.
Bookbinder pursed his lips and stood, hands on his hips, too tired to muster anything approaching a look of authority, and waited for Blake’s MPs to come and arrest them.
They waited a full five minutes, during which time Bookbinder’s stomach did cartwheels so badly he put a hand on his abdomen.
The squad bay’s huge metal doors began to inch slowly upward. ‘Here we go,’ Bookbinder said. ‘We did our best, guys.’ He set his stance and waited for the MPs.
Instead, soldiers began to pour out of the blackness beyond, strapping on helmets, tightening carbine slings, hopping aboard rolling Strykers. They looked grim faced and determined.
They looked ready for war.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rear Guard
Samantha. My Sam. They are coming every day now, pushing farther each time. It’s time to come to grips with the fact that Bookbinder didn’t make it. There is no cavalry coming. I have done all I can here. We are dug in and fighting like lions, but there’s a limit to what people can do. I am ashamed to be admitting defeat here, but comforted somewhat in knowing this letter will never reach you. We are stranded in another world, completely cut off. What comforts me more is knowing that, for ten wonderful years, I lived with and loved you. I had that privilege, that honor. We raised a child together. We knew one another as few people ever do. Many dream of such a thing and never get to experience it. Oh, Sam. I have been so lucky. I am so incredibly fortunate to have loved you.
– ‘Death Letter’ allegedly from Lieutenant
Colonel ‘Crucible’ Allen to his wife
Found in the ruins of Forward Operating Base
Frontier after its destruction
Bookbinder was the first through the gate and the first wounded. A javelin arced out of the seething mass of goblins and clipped his side, digging a furrow below his arm that sent him spinning and dropping behind cover.
The soldiers around them sent up a hoarse cheer as the first Stryker rolled through, followed by running guardsmen who paused, blinking in wonder at the rocs streaking overhead, at the horde of the enemy beyond.
Thorsson was with them, stripping off his uniform jacket and leaping skyward, angry clouds boiling around him. ‘I know it’s strange!’ he called down. ‘That’s the enemy! Suppressing fire! I want this line held!’
Bookbinder shrugged off a navy corpsman who rushed to his aid. ‘I’m fine! Where the hell is Crucible?’
Crucible turned out to be leading from the front as well. Bookbinder found him taking cover in an earthen pillbox, one of many the FOB’s Terramancers had raised along the hard-pressed perimeter. He squinted through the slits in the hard-packed surface, Binding his magic in the midst of the goblin throng, raising pillars of fire that sent the creatures shrieking. Their own Hydromancers set up impromptu aid stations, mist clouds that roved among the horde, drenching the burn victims and occasionally launching a stream of ice shards toward the defenders.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Crucible said, glancing briefly at Bookbinder before turning his attention back to the fight.
‘There’s a company of fresh troops securing this area right now,’ Bookbinder said. ‘Is this the only flash point?’
‘It is right now, but it’s early.’
‘Good, get your people organized and start pulling them back. Once I have the full QRF in position, I’ll have Britton gate them out from the main plaza. If you have anything you’ve been holding in reserve, fuel, ordnance, now’s the time to expend it. This is the only chance we get. Unleash hell.’
‘Got it, sir.’ Crucible raced out of the pillbox, shouting into his radio. Bookbinder followed him, watching as the exhausted defenders began to pull back, their positions taken over by the fresh guardsmen of the QRF. The Strykers rolled through the wreckage, tanks full of gas, machine guns thundering into the massed enemy. Horns sounded among the goblins, to what end Bookbinder couldn’t tell. He heard the grind of rotors overhead and grinned as the QRF’s Kiowas raced aloft, guns and rockets firing, the rocs and wyverns of the goblin forces shrieking in surprise.
One of Britton’s shimmering gates arced horizontally through the goblins’ front rank, a dazzling cleaver, cutting them to pieces. Bookbinder pumped his fist as one of the giants went down howling, cut off at midthigh, crushing his smaller comrades beneath him. Sheets of lightning cut ragged rents in the attacking army, Thorsson’s work and that of the other Aeromancers energized by his sudden appearance.
Bookbinder raced along the impromptu barricade line set up by the Strykers. ‘Britton! Britton!’ He found the man standing on the back of a Stryker, working his magic.
‘Get to the main plaza!’ Bookbinder shouted to him. ‘Start running everyone out of here! Once we fall back, this place is going to be overrun.’
Britton nodded and jumped off the Stryker. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I don’t fucking know!’ Bookbinder shouted at him. ‘Some place safe! A hospital! Get everyone to a hospital!’
Britton smiled. ‘I’ve got just the place.’ And then he was gone, racing toward the FOB’s heart.
Bo
okbinder found Blake sheltering behind an armored Humvee, its Mark 19 pumping a thundering stream of bullet-shaped grenades into the enemy line. The horns were sounding again, high pitched and plaintive. Bookbinder saw banners wave, space opening up between the combatant lines, a no-man’s-land strewn with goblin corpses.
‘Okay!’ Bookbinder shouted at him. ‘You’ve bought us a little time! I need you to hold this position until you’ve fully cycled the relief! Once you’re confident that we’re all out, you can start falling back to the plaza.’
Blake nodded, raising his radio. Bookbinder stopped him with a hand on his wrist. ‘Make sure you wait until we’re fully out, then fall back immediately to the plaza! It’s the only way out of here, and this base is going to be totally overrun once we abandon these defenses.’
‘Where are you going?’ Blake shouted back at him.
‘I’m staying here,’ Bookbinder answered. At least until I’m sure everyone is ready to go.
With that he was up, racing among the FOB’s original force, shouting at them to head for the plaza, settling the QRF guardsmen into their old positions, shoving them into the pillboxes, exhorting them on.
The gap between the two groups widened. Bookbinder threw himself behind a Stryker and peeked around its giant tire, then back along the perimeter line. The uniforms around him were all fresh and clean looking, QRF guardsmen. He leaned back, and shouted to Blake. ‘It’s clear! Start falling back to the plaza!’
Bookbinder heard a thud behind him and spun to face Thorsson, filthy, bleeding and grinning like a wolf. ‘Looking pretty bad for the enemy.’
‘Outstanding. Help me get everyone the hell out of here. Britton is gating us out from the central plaza.’
Thorsson gave a thumbs-up and leapt skyward again.
The QRF guardsmen began to move backward in good order, following the original defenders toward the plaza, moving and covering as they’d been trained. Bookbinder retrieved a fallen carbine and moved with them, firing in three-round bursts. The weapon bucked and it was impossible to hit anything, but he figured the stream of bullets would make the goblins keep their heads down, and that was something.
The goblins sensed the change in the defenders’ posture and surged forward. Squadrons of rocs clouded the skies over them as the air cover fell back to circle over the plaza. The good order of the guardsmen began to flag as they sensed the enemy’s surge in momentum. Within moments, the first of them had turned his back on the enemy, running pell-mell for the plaza. Bookbinder shouted to no avail. The stream became a river and the guardsmen abandoned all pretense at order, running for escape.
Bookbinder cursed and ran with them. Men fell around him, javelins quivering in their backs. A column of fire jetted through their ranks, sending men howling to roll in the mud. Elbows jostled Bookbinder’s ribs, and he nearly went down as a goblin Terramancer raised a doglike thing with spiked teeth made of glittering rock, sending it lurching into the column. He dodged around it, pushing along the muddy track, screaming at the men to move faster. He glanced skyward, grateful for the circling air cover, the only thing keeping this rout from becoming a massacre. Horror rose in his gut.
Even with this relief force, the enemy was not sufficiently repulsed. The goblins were hot on their heels, leaving them the choice of standing and fighting until their ammunition ran out or running for the gate and being cut to pieces, backs to their enemy.
One army wasn’t enough.
An arrow whistled by Bookbinder’s ear, and he heard the horns sound again, answered by a howl of victory from the goblins as they began to pour past the now-abandoned perimeter, hot on the retreating soldiers’ trail. Thorsson landed beside him, his eyes wide with worry.
‘What?’ Bookbinder shouted to him. ‘I don’t need bad news right now!’
‘Britton’s gone.’
Bookbinder cursed as they crested a rise in the track, giving him a clear view of the plaza before them. The gardens were churned to mud by the FOB’s original defenders. They’d arrived first, and now clustered together in confusion, looking for a gate home that was nowhere to be found. A cry went up from them and they began firing. Bookbinder winced for a moment until he realized they were shooting in another direction.
Then he froze. Goblins came pouring into the plaza from the east, cutting off the retreating defenders from the ones clustered in the plaza before them, blocking their escape. The guardsmen let out of cry of despair and stopped, slamming into one another.
Crucible had been wrong. The goblins had hit the perimeter from another direction and punched through.
Worse, Britton was gone, and with him, their way out. For the second time, the defenders of FOB Frontier were cut off.
Bookbinder turned to Thorsson. ‘Get us some fucking cover!’ Without waiting for the major, he turned to the nearest guardsmen and yanked on his body armor’s back strap, hauling him around to face the pursing goblins. ‘Pour it on!’ he shouted, racing among the other guardsmen, trying to organize them into something approaching a firing line.
It was a stupid way to fight, more befitting Napoleon’s troops than a modern force, but there was no cover and no retreat. The narrow track was hemmed in on either side by housing units ringed with sandbags. Ahead of them, the other goblin force was hotly engaged with the FOB’s original defenders in the plaza’s center, buying them some time from the rear for now. Either those goblins would overwhelm that unit and pin them against their pursuers, or the original defenders’ bullets would cut through them and start slicing into the QRF guardsmen’s backs.
Either way. They were finished.
He felt his wedding band sliding along his finger, pressed against the gun’s grip. Julie, the girls. You won’t see them again. The sadness was followed by a spike of hot pride. You led from the front. You stayed with your people, and you are putting down your life for theirs. You’re a soldier. No one can ever gainsay that now.
With that thought, he scrambled with the guardsmen clustering behind the fleeing Strykers. He was done shouting. He’d imposed what order he could, led as best he knew how. From here on out, there was only fighting. The thought brought him a measure of peace as he tapped a soldier on the shoulder, received a full magazine, swapped out and started firing.
An explosion blossomed to his left, a shock wave swatting him aside like a hot hand. One of the QRF’s Blackhawks had crashed into the housing pod on that side of the track, its rotors covered in thick ice. Chunks of the cabin spun away, blazing shrapnel slicing through the QRF’s ranks. A guardsman spun toward Bookbinder, his arm sliced off, his face slick pale, mouth working silently before he dropped. Bookbinder forced himself to turn away, pouring fire back the way they had come until the barrel of his carbine smoked. He couldn’t see anything through the smoke and spraying earth of the track, but with the enemy packed so thickly behind them, it was impossible to miss.
A shriek sounded, high and piercing, trilling above the din of gunfire and shouting voices. Both sides paused in the silence that followed, craning necks behind the goblin horde. The shriek sounded again, and the goblins began to part, admitting a small troop of giants, shambling their way up the muddy trail. They surrounded three creatures that oozed liquid blackness, gliding over the surface of the ground, shadows from a nightmare. Every soldier who’d seen news clips of the Apache insurgency had glimpsed them before, had heard the rumors of their existence in the midst of the reservation’s violent ferment, but none had thought to see them here.
The Apache called them their ‘Mountain Gods’. Everyone else called them monsters. What the hell were they doing here?
The Mountain Gods shrieked again, stuttering forward on the trail, one moment in the midst of the goblin army, the next shifting a hundred feet closer, flickering in and out of vision. Their long, thin limbs absorbed the morning light, the uniform sable of pooled india ink. Their fingers tapered to kitchen-knife claws, equally as long as their teeth, and just as sharp. The white cut of their mouths was the only feat
ure in their narrow, horned, black heads.
‘Holy shit,’ said a guardsman, opening fire. The bullets arced across the intervening distance and vanished in their black mass as if they’d been swallowed. The Mountain Gods cried out once more, flickered, and were suddenly in the midst of them.
What little order remained shattered in an instant. The scream that went up from Blake’s force rivaled the shrieking of the monsters among them as they swept about with their long claws, shattering bones and tossing the guardsmen in the air like uniformed rag dolls. Bookbinder shouted for them to hold, but it was useless; as soon as the first few shots passed harmlessly into the Mountain Gods’ liquid black skins, the soldiers threw down their weapons and fled in the opposite direction.
Straight into the goblins now battling the FOB’s original defenders, who began to turn their spears on the panicked, unarmed soldiers charging into their midst. Bookbinder shouted at them, reached out to grab at the handle on a fleeing soldier’s body armor, and missed as the woman ran screaming onto the point of a goblin spear. She doubled over, the plate of her body armor turning the point aside, and Bookbinder reached her in three steps, reaching over her shoulder to punch the goblin in the face as she dropped to the ground. The goblin staggered back, shook off the blow, angry eyes turning to slits as it raised its spear.
Then abruptly widening in terror. The goblin dropped the spear and backed away quickly, until it vanished in the melee behind it. Bookbinder turned just as the Mountain God’s dagger claws swept down toward him.
He got his carbine up in time, jarring his shoulders from the impact of the creature’s arm. The monster gripped the carbine, wrenching it back, dragging Bookbinder with it. Crouched so close, he could feel the chilly air that emanated from its skin. His hands went numb as the metal in the gun conducted the cold to his fingers, making his arms leaden, difficult to keep up. His hands felt thick, clumsy. He fell back in the mud as the Mountain God wrenched the weapon from his hands and threw it away. Its head flickered forward, dagger teeth glinting wetly.