Blue Shadow (Blue Wolf Book 2)

by Brad Magnarella

  I took her place and looked over my team members. “Mr. Purdy estimates we have one month before our first assignment. That means I have thirty days to mold us into a functioning unit. Given our varied backgrounds, that’s not much time at all. And no offense to Centurion’s legal eagles, but this isn’t going to help us get there.” I gestured toward the screen. “Maybe we can look them over in our own time?” I waited for Sarah’s reluctant nod before continuing. “The first thing I need to do is assess your skills, and the best way to do that will be with an exercise. Do we have nonlethal weapons in the armory?”

  “A mess of ’em,” Rusty said. “You don’t see what you want, tell me and I’ll get it.”

  “Good.” I consulted my watch. “It’s coming on 0900. I want everyone to meet in the armory at 1000 sharp. We’re going to play a little game of capture the flag. No holds barred.”

  Yoofi giggled at that last part. This time I grinned back at him.

  Let’s see what this team of misfits can do.

  6

  From my vantage on top of the one-story cement building, I scanned the mock town. It wasn’t exactly like being back in Waristan, but it was close. I may have been looking through an ACOG sight, but it was mounted on an M4-styled paintball gun. Olaf was on street level, guarding the one door to our building. He’d chosen a paintball AK-47, which looked right at home in his meaty grip.

  I had split us into two teams at the armory—me and Olaf against Sarah, Takara, and Yoofi—and it was game on.

  I had already seen Olaf in action in Waristan against the Mujahideen. He had been steady and effective, despite being, for all intents and purposes, a zombie that could take orders. I was more interested in the others right now, particularly Takara and Yoofi. Aside from the brief introductions and what I’d read in their profiles, I knew nothing about their tactical knowledge, combat styles, or ability to work in a unit. Before the exercise was over, I would have a better gauge on all three.

  They were playing offense, Olaf and I defense. I’d given them the single objective of grabbing our flag, which was hanging above a wooden table on the first floor of our building.

  Now I angled my nose up so it was catching the current coming over the rooftop’s retaining wall. The distinct smells of our opponents threaded through those of the compound and the desert around us. We had chosen our respective arsenals in secret—we wouldn’t always know what the enemy would be packing. I only mandated that everyone wear Kevlar shirts and vests with ballistic plates for chest and back protection. Though we were using nonlethal weapons, I wanted the team to grow accustomed to the discomfort and extra weight.

  Takara had scoffed at the idea—apparently ninja’s didn’t wear body armor—but I made it clear that it wasn’t an option. I was picking up an elitist vibe from her that verged on hostile. Especially toward me. The exercise would be a good opportunity to start reining that in.

  “No movement yet,” I whispered into my earpiece. “But I can smell them. They’re clustered at the north end of the compound.” Their team had already had time to strategize, so I wondered what they were doing now.

  “Roger that,” Olaf answered in his heavy accent.

  “Hey, you guys don’t mind if I listen in,” came Rusty’s voice. “It’ll help me work out any kinks in the commo system.” He was in his office attached to the armory.

  “Sure,” I grunted. “If you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  “Hold your position,” I told Olaf.

  “Hold position,” he echoed.

  So far the “nonliving specimen” had operated as Sarah said he would, carrying out my commands like an automaton. She assured me that when pressure came, Olaf would default to his training and experience; he wouldn’t need constant input. Though he seemed to have proven as much in Waristan, I was still anxious to see him tested. What good would he be to us if he shut down in battle?

  My nostrils flared, picking up threads of cigar smoke on the wind. A moment later, alcohol joined the rank odor in a dizzying fusion. Using the retaining wall for cover, I peeked toward the smells.

  “Be on alert,” I said to Olaf. “Yoofi’s doing something.”

  “On alert,” he echoed.

  A cursory study of Yoofi’s profile had explained his constant smoking and drinking. That wasn’t for his own consumption—at least not primarily. The tobacco smoke and brandy were offerings to Dabu. They passed straight through Yoofi to the god to whom he was connected. In exchange, he could channel the god’s powers. A god who dealt in death and deception.

  Deception…

  I spun around to find Sarah taking aim at me from a nearby rooftop. I hunkered down as paintballs smacked into the retaining wall and whizzed overhead. “Contact to your nine o’clock,” I radioed Olaf. But the rapid chuffing of carbon dioxide from below told me he had heard the shots and was already engaging Sarah.

  In a flash, I understood the strategy. Yoofi had employed deceptive magic to get me to believe they were all clustered at one end of the compound while Sarah had been climbing into position to engage me. She didn’t need to take me out. That would have been a bonus. She only needed to pin me and draw Olaf’s fire so the sniper could take her shot. I peered from behind cover in search of Takara, but it was too late. A distant shot sounded from my two o’clock.

  “I’m hit,” Olaf said.

  “Where?”

  “Back of the neck.”

  Crap. I had declared that shots to a tactical plate or helmet would mean nothing, two shots to an extremity would result in the loss of that extremity, and a shot to the exposed head or neck would spell instant death. Even though Olaf was technically undead, it would have taken him a full day to recover from an actual neck shot from a high-caliber rifle.

  “All right, lay there,” I told him. “You’re out.”

  “I’m out,” he said.

  I peered back toward Sarah. Her role in the first exchange completed, she was retreating in a hunker. Her helmeted head bobbed up and down over the retaining wall. We’d have to work on that. And she was about to commit another oversight, this one to my advantage. I fired a suppressive burst in the direction of the sniper fire and then took quick aim at a gap in the retaining wall. When Sarah was even with it, I squeezed twice. She grunted in surprise as blue paint exploded against the side of her neck.

  “And then there were three,” Rusty said. “Takara and Yoofi against the Big Bad Wolf.” He was no doubt watching the feeds from the surveillance cameras recording the exercise.

  “Thought I told you to shut it,” I said.

  I ducked, but not before something pegged my helmet in a mist of red paint. A harmless shot, but it didn’t matter. If Takara could keep me down, Yoofi had only to step over Olaf’s body to seize the flag and win the exercise. I was determined not to let that happen for several reasons. Mainly, I didn’t want Takara believing she had nothing to learn.

  A quick peek over the wall showed me a paintball incoming. It grazed the top of my helmet as I ducked again. The shot had come from the upper-story window of a building across the compound. Between a set of heavy drapes, I had glimpsed a rifle and Takara’s head poised behind it. She wasn’t wearing a helmet, and if I had to guess, she’d foregone body armor too.

  Figured.

  But that didn’t change the fact she was a crack shot. I perched the M4’s barrel on the retaining wall and fired from memory. The shots didn’t need to strike her; they just needed to come close enough for her to take cover. Still firing, I reached into a pouch and pulled out a stun grenade. Arming it with my teeth, I stood and winged a line drive. The grenade punched through the curtains and then detonated with a lightening flash and ear-splitting crack.

  My hearing picked up Rusty’s muted “Whoa!” in my earpiece.

  I popped up and down to ensure Takara wasn’t back in firing position, then scanned the streets around my building. The cigar smoke had thickened into misty currents, but there were no other signs
of Yoofi.

  I hurdled the wall and landed near where Olaf had removed himself from the exercise, beyond Takara’s line of fire. He lay on his back, as straight and stiff as someone in a coffin, but he retained his grip on his weapon. Per the rules, I couldn’t ask whether he had seen Yoofi, but a quick peek inside the building showed me our orange flag was still intact.

  With my back to the outer wall, I sniffed the air before remembering I couldn’t trust my senses. All I could detect were cigar smoke and brandy, their smells more concentrated now—and dank, as though rising from a subterranean cavern. For the first time, I realized Yoofi wasn’t actively smoking and drinking. I was picking up a backdraft from the god’s realm, a phenomenon that must have accompanied the use of his magic.

  A giggle floated from down the street. I looked to ensure Takara wasn’t coming from my other side before turning toward the sound. I threw myself flat as a jet of coiling black energy stormed toward me.

  Yoofi was a block away, the blade end of his aimed staff smoking from the blast that had ripped overhead. Though he’d missed, I could feel the energy’s cold, lingering effect, like a corpse had just wriggled its fingers through my intestines. Yoofi was wearing a brown hooded jacket over his Kevlar shirt, its hem falling behind his knees. The sides of the jacket billowed with each step of his bright white Adidas shoes. He didn’t appear to be carrying any weapons besides his staff.

  I took aim. I noticed his figure had turned hazy around the edges, but squeezed off two shots anyway. I wasn’t surprised when the paint balls passed through him. He ducked and ran toward a side street. Either he’s made himself insubstantial, I thought, keeping my barrel trained on him until he was safely behind a building. Or he’s not actually where I think he is.

  “This is a fun game!” he called from his cover.

  As more cigar smoke gusted past, I noticed my thoughts blurring slightly as though I’d been hitting Yoofi’s flask. He wasn’t altering reality; he was altering the perception of reality. My main senses were telling me he was around the corner—which meant he wasn’t.

  What’s he trying to get me to do?

  I remembered Sarah’s attack from the rooftop and looked over my shoulder to see if they were running a similar play. No one behind me. Which meant they wanted to draw me into the next intersection. Once there, I would either be hit by crossfire, or someone would capitalize on my shifted position and make a dash for the flag. Possibly both. The safest move would be to retreat to the building and stand guard inside, but we were down to a three-piece chess match. Their planning had been good so far, and I wanted to see how they would close the match—or attempt to.

  I edged along the side of the building, vigilant in all directions, until I reached the intersection. I peered down both streets. No one there. No paintballs incoming. Giggles floated from the next block.

  He’s trying to draw me farther out, which means they’re planning a move from behind.

  I took several fast steps forward, as though pursuing the sound, then spun.

  Yoofi was almost to the door of the building when I sighted him and squeezed off four shots. This time I wasn’t dealing with an apparition. One ball exploded against his chest plate, two hit his shoulder, and the fourth cracked him in the jaw. His smile disappeared as he rubbed his paint-spattered mouth.

  “That hurt, man!” he said.

  I pointed to the ground beside Olaf to indicate he was out. “No more mojo,” I reminded him.

  “Nice,” came Rusty’s voice.

  Now it was just me and the ninja. Something told me that was what she wanted. Why else would she have failed to coordinate with Yoofi just now?

  As Yoofi lowered himself to the ground, the smoke dissipated along with his deceptive magic. I loaded a fresh mag of paint balls and retreated back toward the target building.

  I had spent most of the time before the exercise going over Takara’s profile. There were large gaps, including missing dates. She had been born into the country’s last samurai family, the Sakumas, in Hiroshima, but for reasons unstated, left them at a young age to join a secretive clan devoted to the practice of ninjitsu. In addition to physical training, she was schooled in survival, stealth, and scouting techniques, as well as how to use poisons and explosives. Takara was formally inducted into the clan when, at fourteen, she succeeded in her first solo mission—lighting a distraction fire to enter the fortress of a wealthy patriarch, whom she then poisoned with strychnine. Had she failed, the clan would have sacrificed her.

  She’d gone on to master techniques in hand-to-hand combat, sword play, and sniping. With each successful mission, more esoteric levels of training were opened up to her until she could concentrate considerable energy into her punches and kicks and fly short distances.

  Missing from the file was whatever she hadn’t wanted Sarah to share during our meeting that morning. Neither did it reveal why she had left Japan to join the Legion Program. Regardless, I had enough info to know that Takara was one bad babe. The challenge was going to be harnessing her skills.

  I was almost to the door of my building when I picked up a fluttering sound overhead. I lifted my face instinctively, exposing my chin to a smashing kick that knocked me back several feet. By the time I set my legs and took aim, a wooden katana was spearing toward me. It struck my carbine with enough force to shear off the barrel and jar the stock end from my grip. The gun clattered to the street in two pieces, with paint balls rolling off in every direction.

  Takara descended from her flight and stood between me and the door to the building. Her long black hair lashed quietly around her billowy black attire. As I’d guessed, she wasn’t wearing body armor. One hand wielded the katana while the other braced her cocked hip. She had only to beat me to the flag to win, but she made no move toward the building.

  “Do you concede?” she asked.

  She didn’t just want to win. She wanted to make me quit.

  When I grunted out a laugh, I tasted blood. “Not a chance.”

  Because the exercise forbade sharp objects, including talons and teeth, I had declared that pinning an opponent on his or her back for three seconds would constitute a kill. I didn’t have Takara’s hand-to-hand skills, but I possessed a four-hundred pound body packed with superhuman strength.

  I only had to reach her.

  I lunged with animal quickness, but before I could close a hand around her, she drew something from a pocket and blew on it. A cloud of peppery heat burned up my nose and blinded me. My momentum carried me into the sharp thrust of her katana, the blunt tip hammering my gut. Air blew from my lungs in a nauseating grunt. I turned and fell against the wall of the building, tears streaming down my face from the powder.

  “No effing way,” Rusty muttered in amazement.

  I could feel the rest of the team watching me. They had to assume Takara had won, but as long I stood and the flag remained in place, the exercise wasn’t over. Through my watery vision, I saw her wrestling Olaf’s gun from his grip. Theoretically dead, he shouldn’t have been gripping the weapon in the first place. Then again, there were always going to be things our enemies shouldn’t do.

  Springing forward, I drove a foot into Takara’s side.

  The blow caught her by surprise but also had the unintended effect of wrenching the gun from Olaf’s grip. Takara rolled several times before coming to an acrobatic stop on one knee, the gun barrel pivoting toward my face. But I had already drawn my sidearm and squeezed twice.

  A pair of thuds sounded.

  “Booya!” Rusty shouted over the commo system.

  Takara grimaced and looked down at the splashes of blue paint over her chest.

  “That’s game,” I said, reholstering the pistol. “All right everyone, let’s huddle up.”

  Olaf and Yoofi pushed themselves to their feet, and Sarah descended from the rooftop two buildings away. But Takara only narrowed her eyes at me. I nodded at her to say, You too.

  But instead of coming, she broke Olaf’s gun over
her knee and strode away.

  7

  Takara didn’t return following the morning’s exercise, instead confining herself to her room. Sarah volunteered to talk to her, but I told her to let it go. I was willing to give Takara the day to process that her old way of operating wasn’t going to fly in Legion. But that was all. If she failed to show the following morning, then we’d have a major problem.

  I spent the remainder of the day taking the team through the basics of shooting, movement, and communication, and then ended with some physical training. Judging by the weary silence in the chow hall that evening, the others had gotten a good work out. Takara going AWOL notwithstanding, I felt pretty good about our first day. Olaf had performed well, and Sarah and Rusty capably. Yoofi was a babe in the woods, but that was to be expected. Though he giggled through his many mistakes, he listened to my instructions, which was all I could ask.

  After dinner, I found him in front of our barracks. A line of wooden chairs had been set out, and he was sitting in the centermost one. His engraved flask dangled from one hand, and he had the end of a cigar pinched in the other. He stared off with a slight smile, eyelids sagging in a way that told me he wasn’t seeing the indigo sky or distant mountain range, but something a lot farther away.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  Yoofi’s eyes sharpened, and his smile spread over his face as he turned toward me. “Of course, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “You can call me Jason.”

  “Yes, but I prefer to say ‘Mr. Wolfe,’ if that is all right. It is how we show respect.”

  If we’d been in the military, I would have suggested Captain Wolfe, but we weren’t, so I shrugged and took the chair beside him, upwind from his smoke. “How did you feel out there today?”

  His smile broadened. “Very good, brother. Very good.”

  I didn’t doubt Yoofi was naturally cheerful, but I was beginning to suspect the smile and laughter were also defense mechanisms. “The rest of us have had combat training, so I don’t want you to get down on yourself. With enough practice and repetition, it will become second nature.”