The Cresperian Alliance

by Stephanie Osborn

  "We pick the best, Sira, honey,” Tomlinson smiled, becoming visible again. “And I picked the cream of the crop for this team. I—"

  Suddenly the speaker from the cockpit blared. “All crew, this is the flight deck. Sit down and strap in. We have a situation."

  From his seat by one of the windows, Bangler could look out and see the C-130 containing Faith Unit, but couldn't see the one holding Celebration. “Oh no. Damn it. Down there,” Nunez, beside him, noted grimly, pointing down.

  "Shit,” Bangler whispered as the third C-130 containing their diversion team ditched in the Atlantic Ocean.

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  Chapter 5

  "Pilot reports covert mayday sent and received, Sarge,” the jump leader, whose name Bangler vaguely remembered was Greene, reported as she returned from the flight deck. “Navy destroyer USS Hiawatha will pick ‘em up. Everything else is ‘crunchy green.’”

  "Good. Okay, we get to do this without diversion, then,” Tomlinson declared to his team. “'Crunchy green’ is the code name Intel picked. It indicates that all other teams are on schedule and on target. So if we do our jobs, guys, the U. S. of A. will have all of the Crispies."

  "Which is probably where they will be safest, at this point,” Sira interjected. “Disappointing, but there it is."

  "So we continue with the mission?” Wersky asked.

  "Absolutely,” Tomlinson averred. “We arrive at dusk right on schedule."

  The rest of the flight proceeded according to plan. The two cargo craft were met by refuelers just outside of Great Britain's radar range, then ascended to maximum altitude in preparation for the jump.

  Hope Unit activated their invisibility devices and active camo suits, then prepared for the jump. “In three... two... one... go! Go! Go!” the jump leader ordered in cadence.

  Not even the sounds of shuffling feet could be heard above the roar of the aircraft engines and the wind through the door of the aircraft. The jump leader counted to herself as she called jump cadence, and when she'd reached the total number of personnel in the unit, she added, “Anybody left?"

  When she got no answer, she nodded to herself, then looked down.

  Dim, active-camouflaged parachutes began to bloom below her. She counted, came up with the right number, and closed the door.

  "Thumper to Eagle,” she radioed forward, “Hope floats."

  "Roger that, Thumper,” came the response. “The order to replace the jelly with jam has already gone through."

  Nearly invisible parachutes drifted slowly downward through the deepening twilight, some with barely discernible passengers, some with no apparent cargo whatsoever. They all landed in an oat field, whereupon the parachutes vanished mysteriously, and an intricate crop circle pattern began to form, seemingly from nowhere.

  Precisely one minute later, a soft voice called, “GO!” and a single stem, as of some strange flower image, drove toward the edge of the grain field—which also just happened to be the direction of the base of the tor at the head of the loch.

  At the foot of the tor, the covert group took a moment and surveyed this Scottish mountain they were expected to climb, along with its environs.

  Somewhere in the heights of the tor, an osprey called its mate home; toward the water, noisy gannets flocked toward their roosting place on a stack just offshore to the north. Far down the loch, the barks of a colony of grey seals echoed. No motion was detectable on the mountainside.

  "That's what we gotta climb in twenty minutes?” Jan Wersky murmured in disbelief, staring at the tor.

  "Yep,” John Tomlinson confirmed. “Let's get going, guys and gals. We got a timetable, here. And we definitely don't wanna be around when that timetable's up."

  As one, the two units shrugged and started up.

  This side of the tor was indeed less steep than the other sides, but that wasn't saying much. Large rock outcrops and thick brush covered most of the slope, and the fastest way of getting up the side turned out not to be running, but hauling oneself, hand by hand, from rock to bush to stunted tree.

  In a couple of areas the gradient eased and they regained lost time by sprinting along some animal trails. Bang noticed deer tracks in muddy areas along the trails, and decided they were following in the footsteps of a native red deer population. He privately hoped the deer would be near the tor's base in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

  They topped the windy tor under cover of brush and by dim twilight, as if their invisibility devices and active camo suits weren't enough. At that time of day, the wind was borne seaward, so there was little chance of anyone in or around the house hearing them, either. Heavy overcast moving in also gave the White Horse team an advantage; darkness was advancing even more rapidly than usual, with sharp contrast between light and shade already nonexistent.

  The house sat quietly in the center of the small clearing, lights in a few of the windows, both downstairs and upstairs. The view was magnificent, both seaward and inland, but they had little time to note it, save for the fact that a distant curtain of rain was moving in from off the North Sea. Bangler started forward.

  "Stop,” Sira commanded, her low voice urgent. “Trip wire.” With her active camo blending into the surroundings, she appeared to the others like a chameleon; no one farther off than her own team mates could have detected her. “I can show you.” She pointed into a scrubby clump of heather. “Right here."

  "Hotshot, take it out,” McAllister, their unconventional warfare unit commander, ordered.

  Their bomb and trap expert, Sergeant Shane “Hotshot” Taylor, eased in front of Bangler and studied the area, spotting the device immediately. Within three minutes he'd disarmed it. “There,” he said in some relief, his Southern accent even thicker than usual from the release of tension. “But while we're about it, ma'am,” he addressed Sira, “anything else around here I'm gonna need to take care of?"

  "Let me see,” Sira murmured. She let her eyes defocus, and concentrated on their environs. “There is a guard in the rear of the house; infrared detectors under the eaves; and a motion sensor at each corner. Several more trip wires in the landscaping, but I can lead you around those. Stay within the cover of the foliage for a moment."

  They all hunched down in the bracken and heather while Sira adjusted something on her hand. Then she pointed. Several times.

  Slight puffs of smoke emerged from the eaves of the house, and one corner sparked once, as her disintegrator beam took out the detectors there.

  "There,” Sira said in satisfaction. “All of the sensors under the eaves are now gone. Sergeant McAllister, prepare to follow my instructions."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Sira vanished again.

  The Sea Wolf eased into the loch, stealth mode fully operational. “Switch to passive sonar,” Commander Captain William Henry ordered.

  "Passive sonar."

  "Notify me of anything unusual."

  "Roger that, sir."

  The Sea Wolf crept into the fjord toward the tor at its head, running silent and as deep as they dared in the glacially carved inlet.

  "Coming up on glacial sill, sir,” the sonar technician noted.

  "Copy, sonar. Two degrees up bubble, helm."

  "Roger, Cap'n Henry. Two degrees up bubble."

  They ran silently for a few moments, rising barely enough to avoid the glacial sill at the fjord's mouth. “Past the sill, Captain Henry,” the sonar technician noted. “Depth of bottom has increased by a good twenty feet."

  "Excellent. Helm. Three degrees down bubble."

  "Yes sir, Cap'n. Three degrees down bubble."

  "Level out when our keel is thirty feet from the bottom. I want a little elbow room, but not much."

  "Roger, sir. Leveling out now."

  They covered five klicks without incident and without detection and were nearing their rendezvous point. Suddenly the sonar technician twisted around.

  "Sir, we have signal! Thirty-six degrees abaft the bow to port, down twe
lve degrees."

  "Alert. Source?” Henry barked.

  The sonar technician was typing rapidly; a crude image built up on his screen. “Water's murky with the storm coming in; the image isn't the best in the world. There,” he said, as the image construction completed. “Non-combatant; indigenous life. Looks like a giant sturgeon, sir. There's a freshwater stream that flows in to the north of the tor and wraps around a haystack outcrop.” He glanced back at his captain. “I think we found the source of the sea monster legend."

  Henry nodded. “Stand down alert. Ahead stealth speed."

  "Standing down. Ahead stealth."

  Bangler sneaked along with the others, invisible, listening closely for his comrades’ breathing and soft footfalls. “Mr. McAllister,” Sira whispered in the ear of the unconventional warfare commander, “another guard is exiting the house via a side door. Send one of your men to the back door, and another to the corner. I will erase the short term memory of the first guard so that,” she sighed, “your man may kill him, then I will do the same to the other."

  McAllister was attired in active camo rather than an invisibility device but was no more visible to their quarry for that. He flipped a finger at two of his men. They moved into position, and Sira was silent for a moment, concentrating. “Now,” she said. “Number one."

  The ninja-like operative dropped the frozen guard as if he'd been a mannequin.

  "And number two,” Sira said seconds later.

  The second guard fell.

  They dragged the two bodies into the heather, then both teams started for the back door. Within seconds they were crouched along one side of the structure.

  "All right,” McAllister said, “get ready to move out, kiddies. Faith, you take the back door and play bulldozer. Hope, get—"

  "Sst!” Sira's hiss could be heard, though she herself could not be seen, thanks to her invisibility device. “Hold up! The underground network layout is off! They're almost below us!"

  "Are you sure, honey?” Tomlinson, her invisible mate, asked in startled tones.

  "Positive. The underground facility design is skewed relative to the house, and they dug out from under without realizing it.” A tiny, smooth gouge appeared in the ground, as the invisible Sira delicately wielded her disintegrator. “If I go straight down right there, and the teams use ropes, we might be able to get them out with no one in the house being the wiser."

  "Do they know you're here?” Tomlinson pressed.

  "Not only do they sense me—and are happy about the fact—they have sensed the disintegrator in use, not to mention the invisibility devices,” Sira averred. “That's the edge of the chamber they're being held in, and they're alone for the moment. It's dinner time for them, and evidently the British don't like watching us eat.” Grim humor was detectable in the Crispy woman's voice. “They've stopped eating and have moved to the far side of the room. They want out, as fast as we can get to them. Is everyone ready?"

  Tomlinson and McAllister glanced at each other. “Go, Sira,” Tomlinson ordered.

  "Stand back, then.” Abruptly a smooth sided tunnel appeared, some eight feet in diameter, going straight down through first soil and then solid rock for about thirty feet. Near the bottom, a dark rectangular hole opened off toward the house. Three green heads peeped out cautiously. Two were typically Cresperian pyramidal; the third was vaguely human shaped, with long, dark green hair.

  "Ropes!” McAllister ordered, and Unit Faith flung three ropes down the hole, wrapping the top ends around nearby rock outcrops and belaying with their own bodies. The first sheets of rain moved in just then, heavy and soaking, and within seconds they were all dripping. But the gusty mist and swirling fog that came behind it obscured their rain soaked outlines, effectively eliminating any possibility of their being spotted.

  Sira called out softly in Cresperian, and the three below ran for the ropes. Bangler noted that two were still in full Cresperian form, but one was evidently in mid-transformation: it had the body of a human female, but still possessed soft orange eyes and green pelt. They were all naked except for metallic armbands wrapping each of their arms, whether two or four.

  The two normal Cresperians used all four arms and both legs to shin rapidly up the ropes, but the half morphed female desperately cried out something in Cresperian, as she struggled with the rope near the bottom of the pit. She leaped upward a good ten feet, grabbing the wet rope and managing to haul herself another foot up it before losing momentum.

  "She can't!” Sira exclaimed in a low tone. “She doesn't yet know how to do it with only two arms!"

  Having gotten a short distance up the wet rope, the partially morphed Crispy lost her grip and slid down to the bottom. Bits of green and red stuck to the rope, and the Crispy involuntarily wailed in pain, a high pitched, distinctly inhuman sound.

  At the cry, lights flashed on inside the house.

  "Shit! That did it!” McAllister cried. “Get ready to boogie, kids! Time to blow this joint!” He started waving off his people.

  "WAIT!” Bangler blurted, ditching his pack on the ground and deactivating his invisibility device. “I can get her! Wersky, help belay the rope!"

  Tomlinson nodded permission. Without hesitation, Wersky slung his gun over his shoulder and anchored the rope as most of the members of the Faith UW team hustled the two rescued Crispies toward the coast and the waiting sub. Sira called something down to the third Crispy, and she stepped back, rubbing her raw palms. Bangler grabbed the rope, looped it once around his left leg, and leaped into the pit, crudely but rapidly rappelling downward.

  At the bottom, he gestured to his back. “Do you speak English?” he asked urgently.

  "English, some,” she said in a decidedly aristocratic British tone. “They not talk us much. Order me to fix this, heal that, make this stronger. Anatomical terms I know well. Other things, not so much. I named Piki. What you want?"

  "Okay, Piki, get on my back and hang on!"

  Piki nodded and clambered onto Bangler's back, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist, careful not to put her raw, rather bloody palms on anything.

  "WERSKY! PULL!” Bangler bellowed, bracing his feet on the wall of the pit and leaning back.

  Suddenly the pair surged toward the surface, the big Pole anchoring a good half a dozen men and women as they hauled fiercely on the rope. Bangler fairly ran up the wall of the pit.

  "HURRY!” Sira cried, and Bangler heard a scream, abruptly terminated, from near the house. “They're coming!"

  Bangler topped the edge of the pit with so much momentum that he landed on the ground standing up, the Crispy still clinging tightly to his back. The rope team staggered backward as the opposing force was released. They dropped the rope, and in one motion, Wersky swung the machine gun around his body and opened it up, adding its firepower to Sira's disintegrator as British soldiers emerged from various doors. Piki scrambled off Bangler's back.

  A burst of gunfire from below angled upward, missing them all. The next round was angled lower, and Bangler jumped in front of Piki, then gasped in pain as a round caught him in the vest, and another found his upper arm.

  "GO!” Tomlinson yelled, dropping the rope and glancing at his chronometer. “Three minutes! Bangler, activate your invisibility!"

  One last burst of disintegrator took out a corner of the building as well as several persons inside while Bang initiated his invisibility device. Wersky and the other heavily armed extraction team members covered Bangler, Tomlinson, Sira, and the new Crispy as they retreated across the farm house's small herb garden toward the rough valley and the submarine waiting in the fjord below. Sira led the way, avoiding traps and snares, and the others fell in line.

  Just before they crested the descent to the fjord at the edge of the lawn, the Crispy Piki, having observed everything, declared, “STOP."

  Bangler, and everyone else, instinctively screeched to a stop.

  "Sira. Tchchlk."

  Without question, Sira remo
ved the disintegrator from her hand and tossed it to Piki, who donned it.

  Before anyone else could say anything, the Crispy pointed her hand at the house. A man, barely discernible in the dark, stood in front of it gesticulating violently in the pouring rain. A string of filthy curses floated toward them on the misty wind. In the darkness and confusion, Bangler just managed to recognize the man from their briefing materials: it was the British Prime Minister.

  Suddenly he—and a substantial portion of the house behind him—disappeared. Two elegantly shod feet, the bloody stumps of ankles protruding above them, were all that were left standing where he had been.

  Piki removed the disintegrator, wiped it clean of her own blood, and tossed it back to Sira. The female Crispy commanded, “GO."

  They all started running again, as the female noted, voice thick with something like emotion, “He bad man. After I start to change—hope it helps me get away soon, get helps—he hurt me between my legs, and beat me. Make Piki scream."

  "Oh, dear God,” Bangler huffed, struggling against the pain in his chest and arm. “Tell me that doesn't mean what it sounds like."

  Sira's voice murmured something in Cresperian, and Piki answered in kind.

  "It does,” Sira noted grimly. “He raped her."

  Between highly effective machine gun fire and disintegrator rays, the safehouse was in complete disarray, and soon the extraction team realized they weren't being followed. Everyone in the small group was invisible except Piki, and her green pelt blended with the foliage reasonably well, so it was unlikely anyone could see them well enough to target them anyway. They didn't slow down, however; an aircraft carrier was off the coast in international waters, and its Harriers carried more than just training missiles, as did the F-22s covering them. Tomlinson called out checkpoint times as they went, and although they were slightly ahead of schedule, due to the “shortcut” down to the underground level, it wasn't enough to suit them. Tomlinson, in the lead, suddenly blurted, “Otter slides!"

  "What?” Bang wondered.

  "Look at these!” The Hope Leader subvocally deactivated his invisibility neckband and pointed to several smooth, muddy rivulets running down the side of the tor, avoiding rock outcrops and boulders like a bobsled run. “They're sea otter slides! We can use them to speed up our descent!"