Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

  “Ain’t yer gonna kill them, then?” yelled out a member of the crowd.

  “Who said that?” yelled Inquisitor Looby. “Speak up, now, or I’ll have you all flogged.”

  The crowd parted and fingers all pointed to a little old man who looked grouchy.

  “Squealers,” he said with a spit.

  “You dare question an Inquisitor?” Looby said menacingly.

  Harr fought the urge to roll his eyes. The idiocy of the entire scene was unfathomable.

  “No, sire,” the old man said with a grunt.

  “See you do not, or people may wonder if you’re…a witch!”

  Gasps!

  “Thank you, Inquisitor Looby,” said Parfait, regaining control of the situation. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, we shall not be burning these three this evening because I wish to speak with these demons on my own. Rest assured, though, that judgment will come to them through my particular brand of probing.”

  Harr winced at what that might mean.

  “Oooh,” said Looby. “That sounds interesting. I could certainly help with that.”

  “Oh? Well, then. We shall need to compare notes.”

  “My Lord,” Harr said, “you had asked me to remind you that we should disperse the crowd.”

  “I did?” Parfait looked at Harr. Harr returned a steely stare. “Ah, yes, indeed, I did. Inquisitor Looby, please dismiss everyone to their homes. Make it imperative that they remain indoors. Then see to it that my servants and I have proper living quarters for the evening, including a meeting room where these three witches shall be brought for interrogation.”

  “As you wish, Inquisitor Parfait.”

  “And please do join us, Inquisitor Looby.”

  “Oh, I intend to, Inquisitor Parfait,” said Looby with a wink. “I wholeheartedly intend to.”

  SAVING ENSIGN RIDLY

  According to his calculations, the sun would not be up for another 11 hours. This gave Sandoo, Middleton, and Curr plenty of time to find and liberate Ensign Ridly.

  The town wasn’t that large and they already knew the location that Ridly had been taken to in the first place. That, plus the standing order that the captain had given, which was that they were allowed to use force, if necessary, meant that Ridly would be free well before the sun came up.

  Eyes to all guard stations, Sandoo digitally sent to his team members. We’re going to stick together this time, but I want to know what we’re dealing with before we make a move.

  Aye, aye, sir.

  Set all weapons to their lowest power.

  'Tickle,’ sir?

  Okay, maybe not that low. Let’s go with ‘Unconscious’.

  With weapons adjusted, Sandoo gave the signal to move out.

  The sneaked around the back of a row of buildings, carefully sticking to the walls to avoid detection. Even in their black outfits, the moonlight was enough to detail any movement along a solid wall. Every time they moved through an alleyway, they kept low to maintain as much stealth as possible.

  Guard post, sir.

  I see it, Curr. Middleton, move to prone and drop the guards.

  Middleton made quick work of the guards, targeting their throats with Silent Boom Blaster (these blasters do go “boom”…they just do so silently) shots so that they couldn’t even yelp.

  Three down, sir. No signals.

  Three was perfect, thought Sandoo, as a thought hit him. Signaling his team, they crouch-walked across the open area and moved into the tiny building that the guards had been using as a lookout. Without a word, he began pulling the clothes and helmets off of the guards and started putting them on. Middleton and Curr got the idea and began changing as well.

  Once they’d finished the change, Sandoo looked them over and helped adjust a few items until everything looked set.

  Middleton asked, What about them, sir? They seem to be shivering.

  One of them is waking up, sir.

  Sandoo shot him again, and then thought to shoot the other two, just in case.

  Did either of you bring any SynthSeal with you, by chance?

  I did, sir.

  Excellent, Curr. Seal up the lookout windows with it. That will keep them warm enough. They should still be able to breathe because of the cracks around the door.

  Won’t they get out, sir? Middleton said as Curr ran the sealant across the windows.

  No, because we’re going to tie them up, Ensign.

  A few minutes later, they had the guards tied up, the windows sealed nicely, and the door’s lock partially melted. Sandoo was confident that the men wouldn’t be found for some time, and while they would be very uncomfortable and likely have horrific headaches, they would achieve full recovery. On top of that, he and his two crew members now fit the part of guard perfectly.

  Universal Translators are on, yes?

  Yes, sir.

  Aye, aye, sir.

  Sandoo nodded and started walking toward he building that Ensign Ridly had been taken to. He looked back and found Middleton and Curr were still crouching as they walked.

  He stopped.

  What are you doing?

  Stealth, sir.

  We don’t need to use stealth anymore, Ensign. We’re masquerading as guards now, remember?

  Oh, right, sir. Sorry, sir.

  Sandoo shook his head at them both. As far as soldiers went, they were pretty decent. Not the smartest in the bunch, but they did what they were told. They were definitely more reliable than Ensign Harkam had been.

  Pedestrians gave them dirty looks as they past by. Where the Inquisitors were treated with respect, guards seemed to be loathed. This made little sense to Sandoo since it was a certainty that even the lowest guard could bring charges against anyone, and there was little doubt that a guard would have more pull with an Inquisitor than a standard citizen would.

  Regardless, Sandoo and his crew weren’t here to win a popularity contest. They were here to save Ensign Ridly.

  The sign above the door that they were about to enter was gibberish until Sandoo activated his visual translation algorithm. Then he saw that it read “Witch Holding Cell”.

  Sandoo nodded at the ensigns.

  We may need to use more force with these guards, so be prepared to fight, if necessary.

  They pressed through the main door and found an empty corridor. The floorboards creaked as they walked down to another door that sat at the end of the hallway. Turning the handle, Sandoo decided his best bet was to stride purposefully in.

  Ready?

  Ready.

  Sandoo walked in and found three guards lounging about, playing a game of cards. They jumped to their feet at the interruption and began grabbing for their swords. The commander reached out and put his hand on Middleton’s, stopping him from pulling out his gun.

  “Oh, it’s just you lot,” said one of the guards, dropping his sword back in its holder. “You’re late by three minutes.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Sandoo said, smoothly.

  “Never can, can it?”

  The guards laughed, so Sandoo joined in, along with Middleton and Curr a moment later.

  “You three new?” said the man, after a moment as he looked them over suspiciously.

  “Transferred in this morning,” Sandoo replied.

  “Where from?”

  “North.”

  “Huh,” the guard said with a shrug. “I thought we were farther north than anybody.”

  “New outpost about twenty hours from here,” the commander stated. “Word has it that we’re going to be doing a guard exchange in a week, so we were sent to start working through the details and to take a few shifts in order to see how things worked down here.”

  “Don’t that figure,” said the man with a shake of his head. “As if it ain’t cold enough as it is. I’m about freezing my balls off every night they stick me on patrol. Now we gotta go up where it’s even colder?”

  “Soldier’s life, eh?” Sandoo said with a smile.

  “Dam
n aggravating,” the man said and then straightened up. “I mean, it’s necessary and all, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was anything less than dedicated, you know?”

  “I don’t believe we feel that way,” said Sandoo with a smile, and then looked back at his crew. “Do we?”

  “Not me,” said Middleton.

  “Nor I,” agreed Curr.

  “Good, good. Well, we should probably go and let you have the shift, then.” The three guards shuffled out, quickly.

  “That was easy,” said Curr.

  “Until they find the guards we knocked out,” warned Sandoo. “Let’s find Ridly.”

  She was in the third cell, huddled up, and looked to be asleep.

  Sandoo opened the door with the large key that hung on a hook across the hall. Stepping inside, Ridly suddenly jumped up and kicked him full on in the chest, sending him flying backwards to crash into the far wall. She then jumped out, grabbed Middleton and flung him into the cell, spun and cracked an elbow directly into the nose of Curr, knocking him flat, and then started to run for the exit.

  RIDLY! Sandoo sent digitally, after shutting off his pain algorithm.

  She froze, looking back.

  Sir?

  It’s Commander Sandoo, along with Ensigns Middleton and Curr.

  Oh, shit. Sorry, sir.

  She rushed over to help him to his feet.

  It’s just you were wearing these outfits—

  Don’t worry about it, Ensign. You actually proved that the fighting lessons we showed you were handled quite well.

  Thank you, sir.

  Makes me wonder how you got captured in the first place.

  I was disoriented after my fall, sir.

  A whistle sounded from outside the window and shouts could be heard, as well as commands. Commander Sandoo focused his hearing and heard the words, “Guards were stripped naked and tied up.” And then the response from the other guard came as, “Why would…oh no, the guard change. They were impostors!”

  We have to leave, Sandoo said. Immediately!

  TRYSTS

  The rooms were furnished nicely, though the smell was dank and musty.

  Captain Harr had yet to receive a status update from Commander Sandoo, but he assumed that just meant the team was still searching for Ensign Ridly. Still, he sent a communique out to Lieutenant Moon to get him an update as soon as possible.

  Parfait was in one of the side rooms having a discussion with Looby about their outfits. It seemed to Harr that the two men had hit it off swimmingly, being of the same cloth, as it were. Jezden was busily chatting up one of the witches that they had saved from the fire. The man had no shame.

  “I say, Cap…erm, Servant Harr,” Parfait called out, “do come here, please. We’re having a disagreement of sorts and we need a disinterested opinion.”

  That was something that Harr could definitely provide.

  “My lord?”

  “While everyone knows that red is the color of demons,” said Looby, “my feeling is that this pertains to all shades of red, while Inquisitor Parfait feels that the lighter reds that edge more toward a pinkish hue are within the range of holy acceptability.” Looby paused and looked interestedly at Harr. “What say you?”

  “I’m just a poor servant, sir, but my response would be that whoever has the tallest hat would be more qualified to make such a judgment call.”

  “Well said, Harr,” Parfait said with a slap on his knee. “He’s got you there, Charles.”

  “Hard to argue against such logic, Stanley.”

  They were on a first name basis now?

  “That’ll be all, Servant Harr.”

  Harr bowed dutifully and started to move back out into the main room as he heard the sound of whistles and yelling outside of the building. He could only hope that it had nothing to do with Commander Sandoo and his crew. The sound of whistles and yelling in this town probably happened like clockwork as people found reasons to accuse anyone and everyone of being a witch or a demon.

  “You know, Stanley,” Inquisitor Looby was saying as Harr took his position by the door, “I remember when I was just a young servant. They would pack us into little rooms together with nothing to wear but our robes. No undergarments, except for socks to help keep our feet warm.”

  “Sounds delightful,” said Parfait.

  “Oh, indeed, it was. The scent of—”

  Harr stepped out and closed the door, cringing at how that conversation had to have been unfolding. That’s when he saw Ensign Jezden in the middle of a heavy make out session with one of the witches.

  “Jezden?”

  Jezden held up a finger.

  “Ensign Jezden,” said Harr, “could you come here please?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” Jezden said over his shoulder, “I’m trying to come here.”

  Harr blinked a few times before he understood what the ensign was saying. He walked over and tapped the ensign on his shoulder.

  “Remember those videos that I have of you from the last mission?”

  The ensign’s shoulders dropped. “Seriously, sir. How long are you going to use that against me?”

  Harr was about to respond when he realized that the ensign was right. Besides, he thought as he looked at the supposed witch, it may be the last tryst she’d be allowed to have before they decided again to have her burned at the stake. She’d only been given a temporary reprieve, after all.

  “Look,” said Harr, against his better judgment, “I was just going to suggest that you take her to your room so you could be a little less conspicuous, that’s all.”

  Ensign Jezden gave Harr a look of such surprise that Harr began to feel uncomfortable.

  “Wait a second,” Jezden said. “You’re saying that you’re okay with me boning this witch?”

  “I would have used less colorful language, but, essentially that’s what I’m saying. You are what you are, Ensign. I have no right to stop you from being that as long as it doesn’t interfere with our mission.”

  “You serious?”

  “As an Inquisition,” Harr answered, motioning for the ensign to clear out of the hallway.

  Then Harr sat down on the small chair that sat between the two rooms.

  Between what was going on with Jezden and the witch and what was probably going on with Parfait and Looby, and all of the whistles and yelling that was going on outside, it would be a wonder if Harr could ever sleep again without suffering through nightmares.

  THE GUARD

  The Captain of the Guard, Chauncey Cloof, stood with his men outside of the Witch Holding Cell. Inside were a bunch of people in a cell that had done one thing or another to piss off someone with enough power to label them a witch. Cloof knew full well that none of them were actual witches, but a job was a job and any job that proved enough of a shield to deflect any accusations of him being labeled a witch was a good job.

  “Guard Perkins,” Cloof said, “you said that they came in and pretended to be from up north?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And they were obviously convincing enough that you met with a shift change,” Cloof mused, rubbing his chin. He would make Perkins the scapegoat if anything had happened, of course, and it was clear that Perkins was aware of this. “Okay, you and your two men will simply have to go back in there and take the cells back.”

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “You heard me, Perkins. Get in there and take the cells back. They were your responsibility and you let them get overtaken.”

  “But, sir, they were wearing guard outfits. How was I to know?”

  Perkins had him there. But, then, a stroke of inspiration. “I’m assuming their papers were perfectly forged too, then?”

  “Uh…”

  “Ah-ha! You never checked their papers. Tsk-tsk-tsk, Perkins. For shame.”

  “But—”

  “Guard Perkins, for you not to have verified papers is a lapse of judgm
ent on your part. You were clearly just interested in leaving your shift for the night and therefore became careless. Fortunately for you, the Inquisitors have deemed guards incapable of being possessed by demons—or I should be very concerned indeed.”

  Perkins blanched, as did the two lackeys that had been with him when the shift change had occurred. Cloof had them dead to rights. They were pinned in a corner and would have to do whatever it took to make amends. If they refused, they’d be removed from the guard, the demon shield would fall from them and they’d be instantly up for burning. Nobody said that the guard shield was made of iron, after all. There were always loopholes.

  “Now, Guard Perkins, you and your counterparts have a choice. Either go in there and wrestle control back from the impostors or take your chances with Inquisitor Looby.”

  Cloof didn’t have to guess at what their decision would be. Rushing into that building with swords brandished meant possible death, or at least maiming, but sitting in the court of Inquisitor Looby was certain death, after maiming.

  “Yes, sir,” Perkins said with a sigh, pulling forth his blade. Then he stopped. “But, sir, what if they’re not in there any more?”

  “Then you, Guard Perkins, must hope that all the witches are still in their cages or there will be trouble.”

  “But we didn’t report the last two witches that were brought in, yet.”

  “Fine,” said Cloof, glad that they had delayed reporting for once, “then you’d better hope that all but the last two are still in their cages.”

  Everyone stood back as Perkins turned the handle and opened the door.

  An instant later, three bolts of blue light zipped through the air, knocking down Perkins and his comrades. They lay motionless as the door casually resumed its closed position.

  All the guards at the base of the building stood with their jaws hanging open, looking at the scene in front of them. Perkins had been knocked back with such force that he completely missed the three steps that led up to the Witch Holding Cell and came to a rest, face up, on the muddy ground. His eyes were opened slightly and they were wiggling back and forth. The other two guards had been spun around when they’d been hit, so that they were facing the mud with their arms strewn out in odd directions.