by John Holmes
Chapter 2 FOB REIGOUX, 4077th Combat Support Hospital
She gently laid her hand over is heart, closed her eyes, feeling his blood rush underneath her fingers. Through her palm, she gently drew his life into hers, warming it, and then pushing it back into his body, pushing with her own spirit, sharing her power, nursing his, strengthening the healing process.
Jamie York was the same age as Xavier Smith, twenty two, but instead of Specialist rank, her uniform showed the silver bar and two marks of a Chief Warrant Officer 2. Healing was a skill in high demand in the civilian world, and the military pushed rank on healers quickly to keep them in service. She brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face, then reached up and touched the bandage on his forehead. Sweat beaded on her forehead as sparks danced at her fingertips. She sat back after a minute, exhausted, and rested before she took his vitals. She laughed at herself for a bit. Five ago, she had been catching waves on a California beach, golden surfer tan, the perfect American teenager. The minute she had become one of the Freaks, different, that had all changed, and now she was a million miles away in a dirty combat zone. How many people had unfriended her on Facebook as soon they found out? Most of them. Being a magical creature was a lonely life. To guys, she was either a strange sexual conquest, or a Freak. To women, she was a threat.
“How is he doing?” Major Hartz, the Combat Support Hospital surgeon who had operated on Smith, stood in front of her, taking notes on his iPad. It almost didn’t bother her that he unconsciously put the bed between them as a barrier, and that he wouldn’t touch his patient without gloves on. As if you could catch magic like herpes or something. People always feared the unknown, and despite magic having been part of the military for more than a hundred years, they, the great non-magical masses, still called them Freaks.
“I think he’s doing better. Vitals are steady, his spirit is growing. I did some healing on the fracture on his skull and knit some more of the small bones in his shoulder together. Some bleeding from the sutures in his skull.” She knew how he was going to react, but said it anyway. “You missed a scrape on one of the veins; it was severely weakened and could have burst if his BP had shot up again. I knit it back together and reinforced it.”
He shot her the expected dirty look. “I think we should trust surgeons to do surgery, and healers to do healing. Is that understood, Chief York?” She could almost hear him say “FREAK” on the end of his sentence.
“Yes, Major.”
“You can help by doing your job, and letting me do mine.” He turned and walked away. Once she was sure he was out of earshot she whispered “asshole” and turned back to her patient. Not for the last time, she wished she could throw just one simple hex. Snake in his bed or something. Through her thoughts she saw that Smith was awake.
“Water” he croaked. She gave him a sip from the glass next to his bed, but only enough to wet his mouth.
“How do you feel?” she asked as he closed his eyes again.
For a second she thought he had fallen asleep again, but he muttered “Like shit. My head hurts.”
“That I can do something about. Morphine or magic? Careful, they’re both addicting.”
“You know what I am.” He glanced at the medical insignia on the top of her left sleeve, above the 11th Mountain Division’s jagged peaks. The Velcro patch showed the twin snakes curled around the staff of a medic, and next to that the crossed wands of a mage. “You know we can’t have morphine, Chief.”
“Bit of a joke, there, Specialist.” She laid her hand on his head, and pulled the pain into her own body, extending her other hand so that the energy crackled at her fingertips, discharging into the air. Thankfully there were no other patients in the ward right now, or doctors, because she was sure someone would give her crap for letting sparks into the open.
“Gotta give something to take something” she whispered, but he had already fallen back asleep. She sat back in her chair as one of the local tribeswomen pushed a cleaning cart past the bed, and tried to get some work done, inputting notes in her own iPad. The Durkistani mopped carefully around the bed, and wheeled her cart out without attempting conversation.
Twenty minutes later, two things happened at exactly the same instant. She had just stood, and noticed a broken piece of glass on the floor, about the size of a quarter, on the other side of the room. It shone weakly in the florescent lights, and she wondered why the woman hadn’t picked it up.
As she looked, the glass in front of her erupted in a burning red light, and she heard a POP of displaced air behind her. She dove onto the bed, covering Smith’s body with her own, as a bolt of pure lighting passed over her shoulder and transected the horned figure rising from the burning light, now almost too bright to look at. She closed her eyes as a violent melee erupted around her, punctuated by roars in a demon, alien tongue and curses in English from whomever had materialized behind her. She rolled off the bed, cradling Smith’s head in her arms and chanting a quick coma spell that kept him unconscious as they crashed to the floor.
The battle was cut short by the BANG BANG BANG BANG of an automatic shotgun firing, and a man screaming in mortal agony. The demon yelled and the burning red light, glowing through her clenched eyelids, went out.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and almost jumped out of her skin. A gruff, gravelly voice asked “Are you OK?” and she opened her eyes to see a battered pair of desert combat boots in front of her. Beyond them lay the slashed open body of the MP who had been on duty outside the door, still cradling his shotgun, and past that, something horned and hideous smoked and stank of brimstone.
York looked up into the face she had seen only once before, at her graduation from the DMI. Bright blue eyes looked out from under brush cut, bushy grey hair, and a mass of scar tissue that covered the right side of his face. The Senior Officer of the US Army Mage Corps.
“Yeah, Colonel Scarletti, I’m OK.”
He helped her lift Smith back onto the bed, then reached down, picked up the piece of glass of the floor, and shoved it into the pocket on the sleeve of his uniform. Around him, the ward was scorched and slashed, and the air smelled of burnt flesh and opened guts.
“Wish I could stay and help sort out this mess, but I have work to do.” He stepped back and vanished, the air rushing back into the space he had occupied an instant before. Chief York looked around her and threw up as another MP burst through the doorway.
Chapter 4 FOB REIGOUX
Colonel Scarletti re-materialized in the trailer that served as the Brigades Commanders’ housing unit. His uniform was splattered with blood and he smelled like brimstone.
“JESUS CHRIST! DON’T DO THAT!” Colonel Sims had his hand on his chest. “You’re going to give me a frigging heart attack!”
Scarletti let a grin spread across the half of his face that worked. “Sorry about that, Bob. Wanted to catch you banging an E-4 or something.”
“Do I look that stupid?” He took his hand off his chest and sat back down at his desk and took a bottle of Jack Daniels out of his desk, pouring some into a glass. He offered it to the Mage, who shook his head no.
“Violating General Order One. No thanks. I don’t want to wind up a thousand meters from where I want to be when I teleport. Let’s get on to business. You have got a big problem.”
Sims sighed and put the bottle back in his desk, then ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“Tell me about it. Things have been quiet, waiting on the enemy’s summer offensive. We didn’t expect anything; otherwise we would have put one of your more senior people and more firepower in there.”
His door banged open and two sergeants from his Personal Security Detachment burst into the room, guns drawn.
“SIR! There has been an attack inside the Cash! Someone infiltrated the hospit …” He saw Colonel Scarletti standing in the shadows, blood and gore splattered, and reacted to protect the Brigade Commander. One of them fired at the Mage and the other moved to impose himself in front of Colonel Sims. They both s
topped dead still, frozen in place, the bullet from the first guards’ gun halted in mid-air, slide stopped as it worked to load another round.
Scarletti reached up and pushed the bullet off to one side, altering its course. Both soldiers leapt back into motion at a snap of his fingers. The bullet smashed into the wall, several feet to the right of Scarletti.
“STAND DOWN!” yelled the Colonel, and both soldiers held their weapons up.
“Sir, there was an incident in the hospital, involving Specialist Smith. We came in as fast as we could. One of the MP’s was killed. But how did …”
“I’m fine. This is Colonel Scarletti, an old friend of mine. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe with him here.”
They withdrew with scowls. The PSD didn’t like an unknown in with their principal, with a threat inside the base. Colonel Sims turned back to Scarletti. “Nice trick. I’m assuming you’re here for the incident in the Gorengal Valley.”
“That, and what just happened in the hospital.” He pulled the piece of glass out of his pocket and set it on the desk. It was a worn piece of green bottle glass, edges smooth except where it had recently been broken in half. It looked like it had been in the ocean, getting ground down by sand, for centuries.
“So? What’s with the piece of glass?”
“This was used to import a demon into your CSH about ten minutes ago. A local woman dropped it in there, and it acted as a conduit, channeling a demon from where it had been summoned, through the other half of the glass, into this one, and into your hospital.” He spun it around on the tip of his finger. “The demon tripped a Ward I had placed on Specialist Smith. Thankfully, I was able to get there in time.”
Sims put his head in his hands and sighed. “I don’t need this shit.”
“By the way, you should put the Healer on duty in for a Bronze Star. She dove in front Specialist Smith and got him on the floor before the demon could get to him. Hell, I’m going to put her in for it myself.” He snapped his fingers, and a sheet of paper appeared on the Colonel’s desk.
“You and your goddamned party tricks” grumbled Sims, as he signed the paper. “So what can you tell me about this Shaman?”
“Nothing, yet. When I can, I’m going to go through him like a hot knife through butter.” Sims grunted, then stood and looked out the window, staring at the distant mountains.
“Of course, every asset in the Brigade will be at your disposal.”
“Not going to need them. This is going to be quick and dirty.”
Sims turned back to Scarletti. “You’re not going to be able to waltz right into the Gorengal. First off, there are thousands of pissed off tribesmen who will be gunning for you. Second, this guy seems pretty damn powerful. Did you see the video?”
“Watched it a few hours ago at the Pentagon. I’ve been bouncing around the globe since then. Haven’t been able to come up with a crumb of info on him.”
Scarletti stood up. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to go into there without support. The D Boys are itching for a crack at this guy. Maybe a supporting assault, or a diversion. It’s going to be a few weeks before anything happens, or maybe never, until he shows his head again. Until then.”
He disappeared with a snap of displaced air. Sims stood up and started punching buttons on his phone.
“Lieutenant Akins, get me the Commander of my PSD in here. I want a 24 hour guard on the hospital, ASAP.”
“Special care must be taken to integrate all military assets into planning of operations, and a good commander will be well versed on all magical capabilities in his unit.”
~ FM 3-80 BATTLEFIELD THAUMATURGY, DEC 2011
Chapter 5 FOB REIGOUX, two weeks later…
“Hey, Freak.”
Smith looked up from the Field Manual he was reading, FM 3-80, Battlefield Thaumaturgy. The last section kept running through his mind.
“… as it is currently understood, magic involves the mental manipulation of quantum particles on a subatomic level, and interaction with alternate planes of reality (theoretical parallel universes) and higher dimensions.”
He was sitting on the porch he had inherited when he moved into the trailer that he shared with the two other junior enlisted mages assigned to the Brigade, Corporal “Nasty” Bognaski and Staff Sergeant Carson. The Staff Sergeant was back in the states for his two week, mid tour leave, and Corporal Bognaski was out on patrol, supporting a route clearance operation on Highway One. In front of him stood three soldiers. They were wearing PT uniforms, rifles slung over their shoulders, yellow reflective belts glimmering in the sun. The lead man was a short Hispanic, the other two big white guys who looked like football players. Two other guys stood at either end of the row of trailers, keeping an eye out.
“Hey, fucker, I’m talking to you.” Smith took his feet off the railing and shaded his eyes. His head still hurt, and the sunlight bothered his eyes.
“Yeah, what can I do for you?”
The smaller guy stepped onto the porch. “Corporal Gaines was a friend of mine. Saved my ass more than once. Matter of fact, a lot of guys in Second Platoon were friends of ours.”
Smith knew what was coming. Although he had been a Mage only as long as he had been in the Army, he knew, from visits home and passes, how the general public looked at magic wielding “Freaks”. Jealousy, fear, but rarely outright hostility. He guessed that this guy had spent the last two weeks working himself up into this, grieving over his friends.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You fucked up, Freak. You were supposed to be protecting their asses, and from what I heard, you led them right into an ambush.” As he spoke, his face started to turn red, and he fairly shouted the last word.
Smith sat and didn’t respond. It had been drilled into his head over and over at the DMI, and again when he apprenticed in Defense Arts. Never, ever, use magic on Normals, people with no magical ability. Especially on fellow soldiers. It was like bringing a tank to a knife fight.
“Did that scar on your head make you fucking deaf?”
Trying to keep his cool, Smith answered with a short “Nope.”
The leader motioned to the two guys behind him. “Pin him down. I’m going to show him what happens when people screw with the Infantry.” He pulled out a bayonet from where it had been hidden under his shirt and held it down low. The two giants moved to either side of Smith and grabbed his arms.
“Hey, listen, I don’t know who you are, but I’m sorry about your buddies. Trust me; I have nightmares about it every frigging night.”
The smaller man didn’t answer, just slashed with the bayonet at Smith’s forehead. A cut opened above his eye, and blood spurted out and blinded him. He felt a fist thud into his kidneys, and he doubled over in pain and fell to the ground. Blows started raining down on him, hard fast kicks aimed at his torso. He cradled his head in his hands trying to protect the still healing fracture in his skull. A chance kick go through and stars spun crazily in his vision. He had held off from using spells to defend himself, not wanting to break the rules of magic and use it on fellow soldiers. Now, his head spinning, he couldn’t if he tried.
“No one screws over the Infantry, you piece of shit. You got our friends killed!” the knife wielder yelled in his ear. He heard a shout, and the kicks stopped, except for one last one that came crashing down on his ankle, shattering it. There was the sound of people running across the gravel, fading away, and then more footsteps came closer.
“Holy shit, X, are you OK?” said a soft female voice, using his nickname. Water poured out onto his face, clearing his vision temporarily. Through a red haze, he saw the face of Chief York. She touched his forehead, sealing the cut, and washed more blood away from his face.
“What the hell happened? Who was that?” she said as she ran her hands along his torso, looking for more wounds.
“Some buddies of the guys who got killed in the ambush. Just a bunch of Normals trying to give me payback.”
She ran her hand ove
r his body, looking for wounds. Despite his condition, a bolt of pure electricity ran through him when her hand touched his bare skin. “Jesus, they sure as hell worked you over. Give me a minute; I’m worn out from working at the hospital. I can fix you up in a bit.”
Smith tasted the blood that had run into his mouth, and his headache had returned with a vengeance. “No, just fix my ankle. Leave all the rest.”
She sat back on her heels, looking at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I deserved it. They were right; I did get their buddies killed. I screwed up, and this is just a small price to pay. A good reminder.”
York looked at him, and shook her head. “Listen, X, that wasn’t your fault. You came up against someone way more powerful than you. I gotta tell Captain Lang about this.” Captain Lang was the Mage Team Leader at FOB Reigoux, and wouldn’t take kindly to someone messing with his people.
“No, no way. You want to make my life hell? He’ll complain to the Brigade Commander, and it will roll downhill, and then next time I’m outside the wire, I’ll “accidentally” catch a round in the back of the head. They had their fun, let it go.”
“OK” she said, and kept her misgivings to herself. “I do want you to email Colonel Scarletti, ask him to set a Normal ward on you instead of just a Magic one. You know that that shaman is still out there somewhere, and there isn’t anything to stop him paying some local national five bucks to pop you with an AK -47 coming out of the mess hall or something.”
“I guess” he muttered, his head starting to ache again.
She helped him to his chair and set to work healing his ankle. “Next time, though, X, you have my permission to defend yourself. Things are way different out here in the field than they are back at school.”
He grimaced through bloody lips as she set the bones in his ankle. “Ya think?”
“Do you think that you can ID these guys?”
“Yeah, sure, but I told you, I don’t want any trouble with the Chain of Command.”