by Myke Cole
“At ease,” Bookbinder said, gesturing at the chair opposite his desk. “First, take a load off. Second, call me Alan.”
“Sir?” Crucible looked puzzled as he sat.
“Alan. It’s my name. I want you to start using it when we’re alone together, okay?”
Crucible looked uncomfortable. “Alan.”
“Thanks. You know, you SOC guys always go by your call signs. I never got your first name.”
Crucible gaped. “Um, we just go by the call signs, si . . . Alan.”
Bookbinder sighed and bowed his head behind his steepled fingers. “Crucible, please. I’m alone in this.”
There was a long silence. Bookbinder was about to go on when Crucible said, “Richard. People call me Rick.”
Bookbinder looked up in surprise. “Rick. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“The meeting is set up?”
Crucible nodded. “All officers O–3 and up not on critical assignment will be assembling in the plaza at 1400, sir, per your orders. I’ll have one of our Aeromancers do some air vibrations so that you won’t need to use a microphone.”
“Senior enlisted, too. I want all the command sergeant majors and master chiefs.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And I’d like you to move into my old office, Rick. I need you close by.”
Crucible paused. “Sir . . . Alan, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to remain where I am. SAOLCC needs—”
“It isn’t all the same to me,” Bookbinder cut in. “I don’t think you fully appreciate what’s going on here, Rick. Keeping SAOLCC running is on the absolute bottom of my priority list right now.”
Crucible sat back in his chair and cocked his head to the side.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I’ll explain it all during the address. Just make sure we double the perimeter patrols during the meeting. The last thing I want is for all of our leadership to be taken out at a stroke.”
Crucible was silent. Bookbinder’s comment about reprioritizing Crucible’s main program was not scoring any points with the man.
Bookbinder sighed. “I’m sorry, Rick. I know that program is your baby, and it’s important to the army, but we’re going to have to make some big changes here. It’s a shame, really; I could have used some of that leadership training. Especially now.”
Crucible met his gaze, inscrutable. Bookbinder felt his magic current across the desk, disciplined and muted. He resisted the urge to use his own magic to reach out and tug it toward him.
After the man made no reply, Bookbinder sat back in his chair.
He hoped to make a friend here today, to feel like he had someone in his court. That clearly wasn’t happening. “All right, you can go.”
Crucible stood stiffly and headed to the door. Bookbinder went back to his computer and woke it up from the screen saver when Crucible’s voice reached him. “You can do this, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
Crucible looked so uncomfortable that Bookbinder thought he might crawl out of his own skin. “I’m just saying, si . . . Alan. You can do this. I know you’ve never been in combat before you came here. I think that’s a lot less important than the army makes it out to be. From what I’ve seen since you arrived, you know when to hold and when to fold. That makes a big difference. I’m not happy Taylor’s gone, but nobody’s kidding themselves that he was a great leader. Most of us hated him. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think you’re going to be fine, sir.”
Bookbinder nodded, a tide of relief flooding his gut. His throat swelled, and it took him a moment to speak. “I don’t know what to say.”
Crucible’s mouth quirked. “That’s fine. I mean, it’s fine now.
It won’t be fine at the meeting this afternoon. But I’m confident you’ll get it worked out by then.
“I’m with you, sir. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”
And then he was gone, leaving Bookbinder to master his whirling emotions and the magical tide that surged along with them.
A Terramancer raised an earthen platform with a short flight of rock steps leading up to it. The full range of officers and senior enlisted stood around it in a sea of green, tan, and gray. Bookbinder began to wade his way through the crowd, uttering polite excuse me’s as he went. At first, the men and women pushed back against him, glaring. Then a few pairs of eyes lighted on the eagle stitched to the front of his helmet liner and whispers began to spread. By the time he mounted the platform steps, the throng was silent. He crested the platform and looked over the hundreds of people covering the plaza and streaming around the DFAC, MWR, and surrounding structures. Necks strained expectantly toward him, battle-hardened operators, medical personnel stained to the elbows in the blood of their comrades, technicians and logisticians, police officers and pilots. Professionals, all.
Looking to him to lead.
Panic gripped him, and his vision grayed. He felt sickness rise in his throat. Every fiber of his being wanted to run, to crawl into a hole. Anything but having to address the crowd before him. He swayed on his feet.
No, damn it. By God you will not faint. Not now.
He gritted his teeth and blinked hard. When he opened his eyes, he felt a bit steadier, but noted some cocked eyebrows in the audience. A hushed whisper was building. Somewhere out there, Crucible was standing, watching him.
“Okay,” Bookbinder said. The Aeromantic magic surrounding the platform carried his voice to the farthest reaches of the crowd, silencing the buzzing whisper. His voice thundered in his ears.
“I want to thank everyone for coming, and I also want to keep this short, not least because I’ve got the entire leadership of this FOB in a single, easily targeted location.”
There was a ripple of nervous laughter. Bookbinder saw a few smiles spreading through the crowd. Well, it was a start.
“I’m sure the rumors have been flying thick and furious throughout this base, and I want to lay out for you exactly what’s going on and what you’re going to be dealing with in the coming days. Now, some of you may be of the school that thinks, ‘What the troops don’t know won’t hurt them.’ That’s not how I run things. Nothing we’re discussing here is classified, and you are ordered to fully disseminate what I’m about to tell you in detail and with a sense of urgency to the men, women, and Source-indigenous personnel serving under your command.
“That’s right. I said, ‘That’s not how I run things.’ From that statement you have likely deduced that I am now in command of this Forward Operating Base. Which brings me to the first piece of information I have to disseminate. Colonel Taylor was murdered by rogue goblin contractors.”
The buzz swelled and broke into a stream of near shouting.
Faces turned away from Bookbinder as the officers began to confer with one another, asking if it could possibly be true, if anyone heard differently, if there were more assassins among them. Bookbinder raised his voice to shout over them, then reeled it back as he realized that he didn’t have to. The Aeromancer adjusted the magic, ensuring that his most timid whisper carried to the farthest reaches of the plaza despite the din.
“Taylor will be buried with full military honors at the parade ground at sunrise this coming Wednesday. Of course, I won’t require any of you to attend, but field-grade officers would set a good example for their troops by being present.
“And let me be clear on something else. This was the action of a couple of goblins obviously loyal to the Defender clans. The vast majority of Entertech contractors on this post are Embracers and our friends and allies. You will not seek retribution. You will not refuse to work with goblins on this post or in any way undermine the work they are currently doing. I assure you that my force protection staff will be hard at work discovering and rooting out any threat to the security of this base. But we have enough on our plate and cannot begin to address the problems at hand if we’re turning on one another. I am instructing my Provost Marshal General to be ent
husiastic in the investigation and prosecution of attacks on goblins on this installation that he believes may be motivated by paranoia or a desire for revenge. Is everybody tracking?”
The buzz receded into silence.
“I just asked you a question,” Bookbinder said, cocking an eyebrow.
A ripple of “yes, sir,” and, “aye aye, sir,” swept through the throng. Heads bobbed.
“Good. I’m not playing around here. I will have order on this FOB. We’ve got some tough times ahead, and I’m going to need each and every one of you to pull together in helping to get us through them.”
He stared out over the audience, making eye contact with hardened veterans of multiple campaigns, men and women who’d soldiered in this hostile dimension since the FOB had first been stood up. The gazes returned to him looked serious, respectful. My God. Am I actually pulling this off? His next thought was of his wife. His fingers instinctively brushed against his wedding band. Oh, bunny. I wish you could see this.
“So, what are we up against? Well, let me get to that in a roundabout fashion. I’m appointing Lieutenant Colonel Allen, Crucible, as my XO and Deputy Camp Commandant. That should tell you that he is being relieved of command of SAOLCC. Why is that? Because I’m shutting SAOLCC down. In fact, I’m shutting down every activity not specifically related to the protection and sustenance of this base. Nothing of a nondefensive nature gets built, and nothing that isn’t feeding, caring for, or protecting the people here gets done. Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s been a dwindling of sundry items over the last few days, ever since the attacks started stepping up. Range days have been canceled. The DFAC is running out of milk and fruit. Unless you live under a rock, you’ve picked up on this. Am I right?”
Silence. The feeling of faintness passed utterly. Bookbinder stepped to the edge of the platform. “Jesus, people. A little help here. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir!” the crowd responded in almost one voice, crowding forward. They’re hungry for answers. They want someone to lead them. And you’re standing up here making them believe you’re it.
“Well, it’s time you were let in on why that’s happening. This FOB is entirely dependent on Portamantic magic for access to the Home Plane. Every single one of you gained access to the LZ at LSA Portcullis via a magical gate.
“A few days ago, those gates stopped opening. Worse, our backup plan took off with the aid of what looks like an organized conspiracy hatched in the SASS with the help of another rogue goblin. What does this mean? It means we’re cut off. It means there is no resupply and no way home.”
He paused to let that sink in. A chorus of whispers, half-fearful, half-angry, swept over the crowd. I will not lie to these people. They are adults and officers. If we’re going to beat this, we need to do it together. All of us, with eyes wide open.
You idiot, another part of him screamed, a part of him steeped in military tradition, trained to release as little information as possible. You’re killing their morale!
He ignored that voice and pressed on. “That’s the bad news, and I won’t sugarcoat it. We’re in deep kimchee here, and things are going to get worse before they get better.
“But here’s the good news, they can and will get better. In the short time I’ve served with you, I’ve come to know you as the most locked–on, squared-away, high-speed, low-drag, wind-tunnel-tested group of men and women I’ve ever met. The enemy we face are numerous and magically powerful, but they are factious, tribal, and functioning at a medieval level of technology.
We’re Americans—disciplined, smart, experienced, and well equipped even without constant resupply. We’re trained and specialized. We’re tight. We’re competent. If we can hold on to those things, if we can keep cohesion as these attacks come on, and, rest assured, they will keep coming on, then we can hold this FOB until we can find a way home.
“And remember, the enemy aren’t the only ones with magic.
FOB Frontier is the heart of the SOC, the best of what it has to offer. If we harness that, we can’t fail to find our way through this.
“I know the level of leadership you deserve, that you’d come to expect from Colonel Taylor. I want to assure you that I’m going to do the same. I will not fail you. The primary focus of my command is to secure this base, keep us sustained, and get us resupplied and relieved. It is my one purpose, and I will carry it out with everything I have.
“I’m proud to serve with each and every one of you. Thank you for the chance to show you just how much.”
Bookbinder realized he had edged slowly forward as he spoke, and now stood directly at the platform’s edge, bent forward at the waist, his eyes sweeping over the assembled officers and senior enlisted.
Silence. A sea of faces looked back at him, expressions blank. He had blown it. Honesty was not always the best policy.
They were standing in stark horror, stunned into silence by the gravity of what faced them. Sometimes it paid to sugarcoat it, and he had just ran headlong into one of those times. You can’t get it right every time. But this time, this time, you really needed to.
Trying not to let the defeat show, Bookbinder turned and made his way toward the back of the platform. The pressure of their eyes and their silence fell away, leaving him exhausted.
Having single-handedly drained the morale of an entire division’s worth of officers, he could now safely crawl into his rack and sleep. Maybe he’d let Crucible run things. The man could hardly do a worse job than he was.
A sound stopped him, a sweeping brush, a thudding smack.
It was faint, light at first. Then it was joined by others, light pats that became a rhythmic chorus. Bookbinder stood still as his brain registered that he was hearing hands clapping.
Applause.
He turned back to the audience as the trickle of claps became a flood. The faces stayed serious. There were no catcalls of praise, no hoots. But the steady thunder of palms on palms told Bookbinder all he needed to know.
The approval made him feel faint all over again. “Thanks . . .” he managed. “Thanks, everyone. Okay. Okay. I’ll need all quartermasters and supply officers to get on my calendar. Please see Crucible about that. I’d like to have the first meetings today. I’ll send word about who I want to see next.” The Aeromancy notched up again in an effort to carry his voice over the thunder of clapping.
“Okay,” he said, feeling his heart swell along with his throat.
I have to get off this platform before I choke up in front of everyone.
“Thank you again. Dismissed.”
The applause followed him all the way back to his office, though whether it was a lingering trick of the Aeromancy or the sheer volume of it, he could not tell.
Crucible brought the first of the supply officers twenty minutes later. Bookbinder sat behind his desk, still too stunned to wrap his head around what had just happened. He munched on an MRE that Carmela prepared for him. He’d ordered her not to bring him any fresh food. If he was going to force his men to ration, he’d have to lead by example.
Crucible entered without knocking, a soft smile on his face.
Behind him, three supply officers, two navy and one air force, trailed along, helmets under their arms. Bookbinder could feel a current off the female air force officer. Her school pin was hidden by her body armor, but Bookbinder’s ability told him she was a Terramancer, though he reminded himself not to let her know that he knew. He didn’t need the uniqueness of his magic adding to the complications here. She stared at him, her broad face weathered and lined. Her eyes were sunken and shadowed.
She looked tired but confident. The big woman’s glossy black hair was streaked with gray, tied into a braid that was further tucked into a bun. All business.
“Alan,” Crucible said. “Sorry to bug you while you’re eating.”
“Not at all,” Bookbinder said, wiping his chin. “Come in and sit down.”
There was a moment of awkward silence as he realized that he had two chair
s for four people, but one of the supply officers, a fresh-faced navy lieutenant commander, threw him a bone.
“We’re fine standing, sir.”
“These are our three section heads,” Crucible said. “Lieutenant Commanders Pierre and Roche”—he indicated the male sailors—“ and Major Woon”—he gestured to the air force officer.
“Thanks for coming,” Bookbinder said. “I’ll try to keep this short. I’m afraid a lot of the burden of the coming days is going to fall heavily on you. Supply is the most critical element to our holding out here, and we’re going to have to be awfully creative about how we make do.”
“We’re with you, sir,” Pierre said with a hint of a Caribbean accent. Bookbinder missed a beat while he absorbed those words and the look on the young man’s face. My God, he really means it.
Bookbinder mastered himself more quickly this time. You’re going to have to get used to the good as well as the bad. You can’t be going to pieces every time somebody expresses confidence in you.
“Very well,” he said. “The first thing we’ve got to do is implement austerity measures. I have no idea how long it’s going to be before we’re resupplied. No doubt they’re scrambling to find a way to reach us on the Home Plane,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “And we’re going to come up with a plan on this end. Until then, I want all perishable food strictly rationed. If you think it’s going to go bad, get it eaten right away. Work from the bottom up; fresh vegetables, milk, and stuff like that goes to the lowest-ranked first, with priority given to those in perimeter security and medical roles.”
The supply officers produced notepads and began to scribble furiously. “Roger that, sir,” Woon said.
“Ammunition rationing continues as per Taylor’s instructions. Strict fire discipline. Nobody puts their weapon on full auto or burst mode unless specifically authorized. Only shoot at what you can hit. Get Pyromancers on regular patrols. If we’re going to need suppressing fire, I want it to be of the magical variety. No range days, no practices. I want negligent discharges rigorously prosecuted. You catch someone hoarding ammo, you make them pay and pay publicly.”