by John Ringo
“Point,” Randell said.
“The actual point is, Special Agent, that even if you reject God, God does not reject you. If you love and do not hate, if you live by His basic precepts, the Golden Rule, if you will, then you are good. His forgiveness, even for rejecting Him, is infinite.”
“So you’re saying that if I live a good life I’m doomed to play a harp for all eternity?” Randell said. “No, thank you.”
“The harp motif is so fourteenth century,” Janea said. “Back then most people worked hard from sun to sun and died young. Sitting around all the time and not having to work for their food was the only thing they could imagine as paradise. Valhalla isn’t playing a harp. We Asatru are called to battle. I mean, like I told Barb, I tried out Astari, which is all nonviolent and whole-grain goodness, and got really bored. Which is why I’m Asatru. Give us a harp and we’ll try to eat it. Give us a battle and stand back. The afterlife is what you are called to. I know a person who’s pretty certain it’s the chance to meet and talk with people like Da Vinci. Although I think the line of geeks is going to be sort of long.”
“So all I’ve got to do is live a blameless life and I’m in?” Attie asked. “No church, no singing?”
“In my opinion?” Barb said. “Yes. Love and do not hate. Treat other people with love and respect unless they have clearly given themselves to evil. And even then, understand and forgive them if you can. But that doesn’t mean you have to let them live, mind you.”
“Hmm,” Attie said. “So what if you’ve sinned?”
“Sin is such a big word,” Barb said. “And it’s a really narrow concept. I’m not saying that it’s all shades of gray; it’s not. But there’s a really easy way to define sin. Do you have any sort of conscience? I know some very good warriors who don’t. They have to just fake it.”
“I know the kind of guys you’re talking about,” Attie said. “But, yeah, I’ve got a conscience.”
“Anything you’ve ever done you really wish you hadn’t?” Barb asked.
“Couple,” Attie admitted.
“Can you forgive yourself?” Barb asked.
“That’s a tough one,” the master sergeant admitted.
“God can,” Barb said. “But it helps if you can. People seek forgiveness for that sort of thing in a lot of ways. The doctrine of Confession is the traditional Catholic method. I…know someone who has a lot of forgiveness to seek. He’s seeking it through…good works. I, frankly, wish he was with us now.”
“I thought you said good works,” Randell said.
“By certain definitions of good,” Barb said, chuckling slightly. “Killing demons? Good. Counts for a bunch of rosaries, or so I’m told.”
“Oh.”
“Others seek it through self-examination,” Barb continued. “Mostly, though, people seek it through the normal sort of absolutions. Owning up to it to the people that they’ve hurt. Seeking to redress the damage. Doing things that counteract the evil they have done. My friend’s approach is…idiosyncratic. But sincere. And, again, unquestionably in there with God. He had some actual demons to throw off of his soul. But once he did, he’s pretty much in as much of a state of grace as anyone I’ve met. And what he does is kill demons. And their worshippers.”
“That gets back around to where I have issues,” Randell said.
“I wasn’t planning on getting Jesus in a cave,” Attie said. “But you’re a very good missionary, Mrs. Everette. And you can shoot. That’s a benefit.”
“Think about what you just said,” Barb said. “‘Getting Jesus.’ Getting has several connotations in English. It means ‘receiving,’ which is the meaning I think you meant. But it also means ‘understanding.’ Which is equally the case. This is how to ‘get’ Jesus.
“All that Jesus really asked is that we love our fellow man and care about him. Why on earth are you in this cave if not for that, Master Sergeant Attie? Adventure? You’re far too experienced a warrior. You’re here to save lives. Jesus dragged a cross up a long hill while stones and food and spit were hurled at Him, was nailed to that cross, suffered, and died a most painful and horrible death to prove to His Father that we poor humans were worthy of being forgiven for whatever Adam and Eve did to tick God off. He died so that we might live in eternity, period. If you die in this cave, open-eyed and willing to die to save others, do you really think that Jesus is going to reject you? He’s a guy who got nailed to a cross to save our souls. Yeah, He has enough forgiveness for you, Master Sergeant. And He is going to appreciate someone who’s willing to die to save others. Been there, done that.”
“You know,” Attie said, thoughtfully. “If you’d been my preacher when I was growing up I might have stayed with the church. Baptist, too, by the way.”
“I know a few very good Baptist ministers,” Barb said. “I also know more who are total pricks, pardon my French.”
“You’re making me think about converting,” Janea said with a laugh. “But I love sex too much.”
“Mary Magdalene was a prostitute,” Barb said. “There’s no other way to interpret Matthew. So was her sister, Martha. Which made Lazarus, who Jesus raised from the dead, their pimp. God may be a little down on it, but Jesus has no issues.”
“Speaking of whom,” Janea said. “Where is Laz?”
“Probably finding a drier route,” Barb said with a chuckle. “He took one look at this passage and clear as day said ‘Blow that!’”
“Well, we’ve got an open area up ahead,” Attie said. “Finally.”
“Might want to let me go through first,” Barb said. “The last time I let somebody else take point it didn’t turn out well.”
“I think it’s okay,” Attie said. “Unless your Old Ones have green cat eyes. He apparently found a drier route. Little bastard.”
“Language, Master Sergeant.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Well now, this is interesting,” Barb said as she emerged from the mudhole.
The immediate area around the opening to the mudhole was more or less triangular and about thirty feet high. The room continued onwards into the cave through a very odd passage.
The passage was high but narrow with a smooth, flat floor. It opened outwards, broadly at the top and again, slightly, near the floor. And it clearly twisted like a snake. The walls were irregular with spines of limestone sticking out. As she shone her light on the wall she could pick out the outlines of fossilized sea creatures from ancient aeons.
“Keyhole passage,” Master Sergeant Attie said, pouring a bottle of water over the Kriss to get some of the mud off. They were both covered in the thick, sticky mud, as was all of their equipment. “Called that ’cause it looks sort of like an old-time skeleton keyhole.”
Barb did a rough clean on the weapon, ensured that it was still cycling well, then shone her gun-light up. She quickly realized that it didn’t reach all the way into the sides of the spread-out upper portion.
“There could be anything up there,” she noted, sweeping the Kriss around.
“Yep,” Attie replied as the rest of the team dragged themselves out. “I’ve been thinking on that.”
“That was just unpleasant as anything I’ve ever done,” Janea said. “Except this one guy in Los Angeles…”
“Let’s do a gear check,” Attie said. “That could have been pretty rough on our systems.”
The team, in pairs, spent a couple of minutes checking out all their gear. Surprisingly, with the exception of having to change a battery in Randell’s radio, it was all functioning.
“Good stuff,” Barb said, happily. “I do so appreciate good gear.”
“I got most of it off of Navy SPECWAR,” Attie admitted. “Salt water is worse than mud, and the SEALS can break anything. So their stuff has to be really robust. And the radios are designed with obstructions in mind. They’ve actually got about the best gear around for caving, just most cavers can’t afford it. Or don’t have the clearance to get it. Let’s stay sharp. There’s not only limited vis
ibility at the top, there could be passages off of it.”
“Master Sergeant?” Struletz said. “I could probably chimbley to the top and work my way along through there. That way we’d have top cover.”
“And if you had to get down in the middle of a firefight you’d be vulnerable as hell,” Attie said.
“I’ll do it,” Barb said, releasing the Kriss to draw back on its three-point harness. She jumped up and got both feet onto small projections on the wall, and then started climbing the passage like a spread-out spider. Fast. She was rarely in even three points of contact, and it looked most of the time like she wasn’t in contact at all. She hardly used her hands.
“That was just…bizarre,” Attie said when she reached the top.
“Benefits of a lifetime of martial arts study, Master Sergeant,” Barb said, not even winded. “I had this instructor in…Malaysia? Yeah, Malaysia. He loved really bad martial arts movies. But he took some of the stuff from them, some of the stuff you’re looking at and going ‘Yeah, right,’ and added it to his art. Stuff like fighting off of balconies and walls. He believed that the essence of martial arts was grace. It wasn’t a really great combat art, unless you were fighting on a ledge, but it was good for learning balance.”
“ Kung Pow?” Struletz asked.
“Oh, that was minor,” Barb said, laughing. “The original was worse. And there are much, much worse martial arts movies than that.”
She shone her light down the passage and was pleasantly surprised to find that from the top, she could see for nearly sixty feet. The passage, viewed from her lofty vantage, was a series of domes covering the serpentine lower portion. There were still bends, and there were spots that the light didn’t illuminate; indeed, there were small nooks and crannies that were going to be hard to check out, but she could cover the team very well from up here. The only problem being that the irregular oval top portion she currently was standing in was short enough she was having to bend nearly double. But she’d be able to stand up in the next dome. At least if she did the whole thing with her legs spread across the passage. That was going to be unpleasant.
“I won’t say what you look like from down here,” Janea said. “But you’d better be glad you’re not wearing a skirt.”
Barb pulled both legs to one side of the passage, bracing on the far side with one hand, and held out her right.
“Toss me Lazarus,” she said.
“You’re joking,” Janea said.
“He can make his way through up here,” Barb said. “And he’s better at spotting these things than we are.”
“Okay,” Janea said, coaxing the cat over then standing up with him in her arms. “I’m not very good at throwing.”
“Let me,” Randell said, taking the cat. Lazarus was looking notably worried but he allowed himself to be manhandled. “Catch.”
Randell tossed the cat vertically, eliciting a startled “Rrow?!” but he tossed him high enough and accurately enough that Barb was able to make a fair catch.
“You’ve got point,” she said, setting Lazarus on a more-or-less flat spot. “Head on out.”
Where the domes were, the passage became, from her position, an oval tube, slightly serpentine, with a very wide crevasse in the middle. Most of the time she could make her way along in a crouch to the side of the lower passage on the slightly slanted floor. Other times she braced with one hand and moved from one side of the lower passage to the other. Sometimes she had to spread and duck-walk, especially in the short lower portions between domed areas. Those would have been the unfun portions where she couldn’t see what was awaiting her in the dark nooks to either side. But then there was Lazarus.
In a similar way, but easier because he was shorter, four-legged, and, well, a cat, Lazarus was more or less trotting down the passage, his tail flicking from side to side for balance and occasionally jumping across the crevasse when one side or the other became nonnegotiable. He was, in fact, getting very near the limit of Barb’s light.
“Slow down, Laz,” Barb said.
“Tell him to slow down?” Attie said. “ You slow down. We’re barely keeping up and we’re walking.”
“It’s clear,” Barb said, squatting on one foot and bracing across the passage with the other. She was in one of the narrower entries to a dome, and the crack to the lower passage was barely six inches wide. “This is a really strange formation.”
“The upper passage is formed when an underground river finds a portion of softer rock,” Attie said, taking a pause under her position. “That’s the upper tube. Over time, it wears away at the lower rock, again finding channels through it, until it either dies, goes to easier rock to wear away, or whatever. Generally it forms something like this. They’re fairly common.”
“First one I’ve seen,” Barb said. “Everybody good?”
“Except for the drying mud caked in my hair, ears and nose?” Janea asked. “Peachy.”
“Good,” Barb said, shining her light towards Lazarus. The cat had gone to full “Halloween cat” mode, back arched, tail straight up and bristled into a bush. “We’ve got company! IR mode!”
The Sure-Fire built into the end of the boxy weapon had a flipped-down cover. Flipping it up, the light apparently disappeared. In fact, it was now filtered entirely for infrared. As the whole team followed suit, the light in the passage disappeared entirely.
Dropping her FLIR down, Barb regained sight of the passage, the gun-light now acting as an infrared spotlight.
“Laz!” Barb yelled. “Get out of there!”
Her connection to the cat was something she barely understood. As far as she could comprehend it, they weren’t even two different individuals. The type of soul that was necessary for Barb to resurrect the cat was an indivisible part of a human being. To bring Lazarus back to life had required sharing the soul. They were now one being in two separate bodies.
She wasn’t sure what would happen if Lazarus was ever killed. But she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. The highest probability was that she would also die.
Cats rarely obey orders but they do have a certain amount of common sense. As a tide of blackness roiled down the passageway, the cat turned and bolted for the rear, jumping lithely from side to side of the passage. However, as he passed Barb, he yowled a warning.
“We’ve got company at the rear,” Barb said, flicking the light around to look over her shoulder. More of the Old Ones were clambering down the upper passageway behind her. “Could use some help here.”
“On my way,” Randell said, starting to chimbley up the passage.
“ No time,” Barb said, opening fire on the group to the front.
The. 45-caliber frangible rounds poured into the mass of Old One spawn, blasting the two in the lead into a pile of ichor and goo. Unfortunately, that had forced her to clock out her magazine.
She dropped the mag, not even bothering to catch it for a reload, and slid another in, fumbling the replacement slightly due to the unfamiliar weapon.
The Old Ones had gotten into the domed area by then, spreading out to either side, with a couple coming across the roof. She took those out, and one of the ones on the walls then backed up so that they would have to come through the narrow portion to get her.
She could hear Randell firing from behind her and just hoped he could keep the mass to the rear off her back.
Master Sergeant Attie had moved to the opening below her and engaged the Old Ones above him in the domed area. His fire was solid and precise, the. 45-caliber rounds shredding every Old One in sight. With the narrowness of the passage overhead, there was no way that they could get to the party from above. They had to either come at them on the floor or get past Barb to the wider portion behind her.
“I’m good,” Randell said. “No more this way.” He was actually perched with his back braced to either side of the passage in a domed section, so he had a pretty good view.
“And we’re clear here,” Master Sergeant Attie said as the last Old One dropp
ed in a splatter to the floor.
“Shamblers,” Janea said, reloading her weapon. She’d been covering the floor below Randell. “They’re easy enough with the right weapons. I’m not looking forward to running into another skru-gnon.”
“Anybody get a count?” Attie asked.
“About seven your way,” Struletz said. “Three to the rear.”
“How many of these things are there?” Randell asked angrily. He’d slid down the passage to the floor again and reloaded. He also reloaded his expended magazines.
“At a guess, it depends how long the Gar has been manifested and how much it’s had to eat,” Janea said, shrugging and starting to reload her magazines from the stores they’d brought with them. “The Gar spins these things off of its essence. If it’s been manifested for a short time and the food is limited, a few dozen. If it’s been a long time and pretty much unlimited food? Thousands?”
“We don’t have enough ammo for thousands,” Struletz pointed out.
“Catch,” Attie said, tossing Barb’s refilled magazine to her. “That hit me in the helmet, by the way.”
“Sorry,” Barb said, shrugging. “I wasn’t exactly going to try to reholster it under the circumstances.”
“Nope, we’re good,” Attie said. “Move out?”
“Let’s take an alert break,” Barb said, thoughtfully. “That little firefight is bound to have attracted some attention. If somebody takes the other side of this dome, we’re in a good, defensible position. Let’s see what thing wicked this way comes.”
“Any progress on finding where the Gar might be?” Janea asked, taking out a bottle of water.