by John Holmes
Bognaski whispered to Smith “I ain’t scared of them, just the two foreigners, Ahmed and Ziv. Both those guys give me the chills.” Louder, so everyone can hear, he said “Yeah, present circumstances are, we got some work to do.”
Colonel Scarletti stepped out from behind Jones. “Yes, Nasty, we do. Captain Lang, sorry I couldn’t just jump here. This spot is hopping off the grid with the amount of spell work used. However …” and he reached down and touched Chief York’s forehead. She sat up, looked around, and started crying.
“However,” he repeated, looking out over the ruined base “we aren’t going to be working here. We have to find out who did this, and work from a safer environment. Sergeant Agostine!” he called, and the Mage Strike leader limped over to them. “Call back to RC-South, give them a report, arrange transport out of here, and then let’s go see what we can learn.”
Smith whispered to Nasty “What’s with the Sergeant First Classes’ leg? Why is he limping?”
“Long story short, that other E-7, the bald headed guy, their team medic, cut it off in the field after they had a tangle with the undead, supporting Colonel Scarletti on a raid in Russia on a bioweapons leg. Back in the field with a prosthetic.”
“That’s some hardcore shit. Damn.”
Nasty dug around in his nose, trying to clean out some of the dirt, then blew hard into his T-shirt. “I know, right?
“ ... after the Mage Revolt of 1893, special considerations for Mage participation in military affairs were made. No Mage may command actual units in a tactical or strategic action. They will act as force augmentation and in advisory roles for command and control. ”
~ FM 3-80 BATTLEFIELD THAUMATURGY, DEC 2011
Chapter 9
Darkness had settled by the time the area had been declared secure enough for an evac to make its way up the valley. The UH -60 settled down in a blast of dust and a halo of static electricity circling around the rotors.
Smith sat in the canvas jump seat, looking out at the stars that seemed to seemed to touch the mountains. He had foam earplugs in to block out the noise of the rotors, but he could still feel the thumping coming through aircraft frame, shaking his bruised and battered body. Next to him Bognaski slept, head tilted over droll spilling out of his mouth. He had fallen asleep almost the instant wheels had left the ground, and Smith envied him. Chief York had been given a sedative by the Strike Team’s medic, and she lay strapped into a stretcher on the floor. The infantry soldier, Sergeant Duchack, had stayed behind to help pull security around the devastated base. The rest of the Lost Boys had also stayed, to prevent looting of the sight and to keep the Durkistanis from cutting ears off and otherwise mutilating the dead.
Across from them, Captain Lang sat in deep conversation with Colonel Scarletti. A faint blue glimmer surrounded them, which Smith knew was a sound bubble, enabling them to talk. He thought some about how magic worked, the correlation between thought, energy and matter. You think a spell, draw the energy from what physicists were now calling “dark energy”, and use it to manipulate the atoms and molecules on a quantum level to perform the spell. Healers used it to sense the life force of a patient, and to do actual physical repairs to bodies. Defense concentrated on learning to nullify spells, or counteract natural physical actions, such as the AK – 47 bullet that broke his skull. Strike, like Captain Lang and Staff Sergeant Jey, learned to punch their way through anything, to cause physical damage. Though he hadn’t met any at the base, since they all resided at the bigger compound at Kahdali Airfield, where they were headed now, but Smith knew of the Intelligence Mage who tried to rip secrets from enemy thought patterns. He had seen one, once, a few weeks ago when he was inprocessing at Kahdali. The man was being carried onto the same C-130 he was exiting, wrapped in a strait jacket and drooling on himself. Bognaski, when asked, told him that Intel Mages sometimes fell to pieces after looking into minds that had gone mad.
When he had been selected for Mage School, at the end of Basic training, it had taken him months to understand the fact that magic even worked. Not even Colonel Scarletti knew exactly HOW it worked. Dark Energy, different dimensions, multiverses, different planes of existence. It all honestly scared the crap out of him at times.
Scarletti looked, in the hellish green light, like all the Mage branches rolled into one. The melted, scarred half of his face, in the shadows, looked demonic. Smith really wanted to ask Sergeant Agostine what it had been like working with Scarletti when the Strike team had raided the bioweapons lab in Russia and tangled with the Undead, but he had learned enough not to. He was also curious as to what the officers were saying to each other.
As if he had read his thought, and for all he knew he had, Scarletti waved his hand and the sound bubble expanded to fill the cabin. He could still feel the engine vibrations through his seat, but the sound was gone. He dug out his ear plugs and leaned forward to listen. They picked right up talking.
“So you have no idea who this guy is? Mages that powerful don’t just appear overnight?”
Scarletti shook his head. “I’ve had the G-2 working their asses off, trying to get some hint of this joker’s background. Smith said he had a bit of a British accent, so maybe he was educated in Oxford. Or maybe he just grew up there, spent his time hiding in a mosque.”
“It just doesn’t make sense. Why not go after a target in the States? Another September 11th?”
“Because the Mages in Homeland Security, much as I despise those bootlicking assholes, actually have a pretty powerful Ward over the entire border. Can’t stop a dirt poor pregnant Mexican grandmother from getting in, but anyone with magical ability, the Mages In Black come running.”
Smith thought hard, remembering the encounter. The man had seemed amused, more than anything. Not vengeful. Why would someone take on the entire Mage Corps, and the US Army? Because sure enough, that’s what would happen. Suddenly, an idea came to him.
“Sir?”
They both turned to him. Lang, as his commander, gave the go ahead.
“Colonel, Sir, I think it’s not about striking at the US. It’s about building an empire. I think, well, maybe. I dunno.”
Scarletti’s ruined face twisted up into a half smile. He remembered being a brand new Mage, jumping into Normandy with the 82nd Airborne, and bumping into General Gavin taking a piss next to a ditch on that god awful night. “Go ahead, son.”
“Well, I read a lot, Sir. Study history, have thing for Magecraft, too. What we always forget s that this area, Durkistan, has historically been a place where empires were built. Alexander. The Persians. The Sassanid Empire. We know that quite a few of the kings of these places were actually Mages.”
The helo swerved and lifted, battered by the different air currents coming off the mountains. Smith started to feel a little green, but Scarletti just said “continue.”
“What if, I don’t know, what if the guy is just making a land grab? Nothing says he has to be out for some bullshit vengeance on America. That’s the standard play for these fanatics, isn’t it? But why does this guy have to be the same way? There’s oil here. Tons of strategic minerals. He could turn himself into a world power, and it would be hard for us to stop him, especially if he united the tribes in Durkistan and Northwest Pakistan.”
Scarletti eyed him coolly, then turned to Captain Lang. “Joe, I want Bognaski bumped up to Staff Sergeant for his actions today, and Smith given his Sergeant stripes. Oh, and York gets goes up one grade in her Warrant. Effective now.”
Lang blanched. “But Sir, Bognaski has been a Sergeant three times already! He can’t make weight, and hasn’t passed a PT test in almost eighteen months! Plus, well, he has the nickname Nasty for a reason.”
“I’ll deal with him.” He unbuckled his seat belt and stepped over to where Bognaski was sleeping. Leaning over, he whispered something in the soldier’s ear. Bognaski’s eyes flew open, and he started muttering “Yessir, OK, I can do that, no, please don’t do that.”
Scarletti grinned an
d sat back down. Nasty eyed him like he was looking at a demon, then reached in his leg pocket and started throwing out all the MRE candy he had been hoarding. It whipped away into the rotor wash. Then he took out a packet of baby wipes from his other pocket and started scrubbing the dirt off his face, eyeing Scarletti the whole time.
“Just takes the right motivation, Captain.”
Chapter 10 Khandali Airfield
As they landed in the JSOC compound, a trauma team hurried out, ducking under the rotors. Chief York was hastily offloaded, still sedated, and carried into the Combat Support Hospital.
“What have got for survivors?” Colonel Scarletti yelled into the Joint Special Operations Commanders’ ear as the engines wound down. As they had lifted off, a convoy of Strykers and Uparmored trucks had come roaring across the valley, paying no head to IED’s or small arms fire.
“Nothing!” Brigadier General Morris yelled back. “Just those two you found inside that MRAP!”
Scarletti figured as much. He had cast outward, seeking life in the ruins of the base, and only found the two infantrymen, trapped inside one of the huge vehicles used to find IED’s.
In a normal tone, the General asked “What the hell happened? I got flash traffic from NORAD, warning of an impact, about ten seconds before the base went off the air.”
“Kinetic energy weapon. Asteroid, moved off its orbit. About five, ten meters across. It exploded maybe a couple hundred feet over the base, pounded everything flatter than a pancake. My people survived by luck.”
Morris whistled. “I’m guessing that it isn’t something some backwoods Mage or hillbilly Shaman can do.”
“Nope” Scarletti said, and shook his head. “I don’t know if I could even do it. The amount of inertia in something moving at that speed, well, it would be easier the earlier you started, but there was so much spellwork running around there, it made my head fuzzy.”
“And we don’t have a clue who this guy is?”
“Nope. Nothing. It’s like he just popped out of nowhere. Once we get the OK on Chief York, I’m going to pull the whole team back to Saratoga, and have an Intel Mage do a deep psych probe on Smith.”
Morris shuddered. He had had a mild psyche probe when he was interviewed for Major in Special Forces, and would be working with Mages in a command position. Regular soldiers could be expected to have their prejudices against Mages; persons who sent them into battle could not. The mild probe made him feel like he had been strung out naked and covered with honey on top of a fire ant nest.
Scarletti sympathized. “Yeah, it will be tough on the kid, but we are going to have to get every single drop of info on this joker that we can.” Together, with Captain Lang in tow, they walked into the Operations Center, to participate in a video conference call with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President.
Smith and Bognaski had hurried off the helo to the Dining Facility, with Captain Lang telling them to get some food and then report back to the TOC, and not make a sound when they came in. He wanted them there if they might be needed to provide any observations. Smith was anxious about the whole thing. “What are they going to do with us? I can’t see how we could have done anything differently.”
“I dunno, Smitty. We’re like mushrooms. Kept in the dark and fed shit. I suppose they’ll let us know when they let us know. For now, I want a camel burger.”
Despite what he had said, Bognaski only filled his plate with a salad and some fruit. Smith glanced at it with an amused look on his tired face, one that was not matched by Bognaski’s frown.
“What exactly did Scarletti say to you?”
“Remember what York did to that infantry guy“ said Bognaski, between bites of salad.
“Yeah, how could I forget?”
“Well, he told me that unless I shaped up, he would do that to me permanently, and the closest I would be able to get to a military base would be as a dependapotomous.”
Smith laughed. A dependapotomous referred to military wives who had a couple of kids and let their bodies turn all fat and doughy. You saw them round the PX, in their early twenties, pushing twin strollers with a couple of toddlers in tow, usually accompanied by a PFC no older than they were.
“What’s so funny, gentlemen?” A short, blonde woman had strolled over, trying hard to look casual but failing miserably.
“Oh shit, hot lips herself” whispered Bognaski. Out loud, he said “Uh, just making jokes to relieve the stress of combat, Major Houlihan.”
She sat down between them, and eyed Nasty. “Is that how you deal with things? Are you doing well, Corporal? Do you need to come over to Combat Stress and see me for a while?”
“Uh, no, ma’am, I’m fine. Never been better.”
“So, you were in the middle of a horrific explosion that killed over five thousand of you fellow soldiers, and you’re fine?”
“Pretty much. Listen, Doc, I’ve been doing this for more than twelve years now. Ever since 9 -11. I’ve seen friends die in pretty much every horrible way you can’t even imagine. It sucks, yeah, but we have a job to do. It’s just going to make it that nicer when we kill this prick. Pardon my language.”
“I see” she murmured under her breath. ”Possible sociopath.” She took out a notepad and scribbled some notes, then turned to Smith.
“And what about you, Specialist?”
“Um, Sergeant, Ma’am.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Interesting.”
“Yes Ma’am, Corporal Bognaski is now a Staff Sergeant.”
She turned back to Nasty. “Well, congratulations, Staff Sergeant Bognaski. How did this come about?”
Bognaski shot Smith a dirty look, then smiled at Major Houlihan. “I would tell you, Ma’am, but then I’d have to hex you.”
She failed to hide a flinch, but after a second smiled back at him. “Corp, I mean Staff Sergeant Bognaski, you know I have the power to pull you out of the field at any time. Sergeant Smith” she said, turning back to the younger man “I suggest that if you want to make a career of the Army, you stay far away from Nasty. Come see me tomorrow.”
Bognaski waited until she was out of earshot before miming her in a high pitched voice. “Stay far away from Nasty. You uptight blue waffle.”
Smith was highly amused. “What the hell was that about? Who is she?”
“You give yourself to a woman for one night, and they get bitter when they can’t have any more of the Nasty.”
A look of shock appeared on Smith’s face. “You mean, you and her? But she’s an officer!”
“Haha, just bullshitting you. She’s the JSOC pshrink. Checks out our heads, makes sure we’re OK to keep fighting.”
“So why do you mess with her?”
A sly grin passed over his face. “Because, Smitty, some people are just born to be messed with.”
Chapter 11 Khandali Airfield, JSOC HQ
Colonel Scarletti sat and watched a hologram play out on the desk in front of him. In it, a slightly less worn version of himself, and a much younger man wearing 1st Lieutenants rank shook each other’s hand. Around them were burning tanks and dead bodies, strewn about a rocky desert. In the distance, oil fields burned. Scarletti had been in a furious duel with an Iraqi Mage, trying to conjure a massive blast of hellfire, and hadn’t noticed the T-72 hiding in defilade, about to put a main gun round through him. The LT and his scout platoon had dispatched the Iraqi tank with a TOW missile, launched from the back of their HUMVEE, and then proceeded to route the Iraqi force mustered around it.
“Sims, old buddy, sorry I couldn’t save your ass this time. I’ll see you on Fiddlers Green. At least it was quick.” The scarred part of his face remained immobile, but the healthy side of his mouth compressed, his lips whitening with anger. He took another pull of the bottle of whiskey, and then smashed it on the floor. “Fuck it” he whispered. How many friends have died in the last seventy years, since his first jump into Normandy? He didn’t know anymore.
Scarletti got up and stepped out of
the trailer, borrowed officers’ quarters where he had gotten a few hours of sleep after the marathon video conference. Two sergeants from Mage Strike Team Seven, Nelson and Horowitz, fell in behind him from their post at the door. Bodyguards assigned to him by General Morris, they knew enough to fade into the background, and concentrated their gaze on the surroundings. Scarletti knew that nothing magical could get to him without him feeling it first, but their presence helped free his mind to think of other things, without being on constant guard.
On the way to the TOC he took out his smart phone and took a glimpse at the BBC headline news app, then clicked over to Al Jazeera, then to NPR, then even the NY Post. They were all screaming the same thing.
“AMERICAN BASE IN DURKISTAN WIPED OUT. BIGGEST DEFEAT SINCE BATTLE OF BULGE. 5000 DEAD. RIOTS AND CELEBRATIONS BREAK OUT ACROSS MIDDLE EAST.”
And so it starts, he thought to himself. The video conference had been brutal. The President, not usually known for being a hot head, was fuming. He had chewed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs a new ass, and the shit had rolled downhill from there, eventually winding up in his lap. As Chief of the Mage Corps for the Army, he only had one superior, who was currently Navy Captain George Reed. The position of Joint Chief of the United States Military Magic Service, or JCUSMMC, rotated every two years between the senior Mage in each branch. He himself had held it twice, but was glad that right now Reed would be free to run interference for him. Scarletti had better things to do, like catch and kill the shaman responsible.
A plan was shaping up in his mind on how to do it, but he didn’t like it. That was the problem with most plans; the best ones were dangerous. He was violating one of Sun Tzu’s most important maxims, “Know yourself and know your enemy.” Well, he knew himself, but didn’t know anything about the enemy, and that would have to change. The key, he knew, was Sergeant Smith. The kid was bright and shiny and new, and didn’t know when to take a piss, but he was smart and had a good education