by John Holmes
“Relax, kid. I’m not going to skin you alive. I just want to talk to you about what happened in the Gorengal.”
A troubled look passed over Smiths’ face, and he burst out “I fucked up, Sergeant Major. I got all those guys killed.”’
The Sergeant Major leaned back in his chair. Classic ‘Survivors Guilt’. He needed to snap the young NCO out of it, or he was going to be useless. McGhee turned to point to a picture hanging in the center of his “I love me” wall behind his desk.
“See those two knuckleheads in that picture?”
Smith looked closely at the photo. It was an old, grainy black and white. In it, two young men in World War Two paratrooper uniforms stood with their arms around each other’s’ shoulders, grinning like fools. One had a bandage across half his face. Around them lay dead Germans, bodies forever stilled. He looked closer, and saw that the two in the picture were …
“Is that you and Colonel Scarletti? How OLD are you guys?”
McGhee laughed “I’m ninety six. I think the Colonel is a year older, but don’t tell him I told you. One of the benefits of being a Mage. Thing is, I want you to live that long. If you keep blaming yourself for what happened, you’re going to get more soldiers, and yourself, killed.”
He lit up a cigar and sucked in a lungful. Smith choked on the acrid smoke.
“Let me tell you a story. The Colonel and I were both young Sergeants when we dropped in with the 82nd Airborne, into Normandy. Man, that was a shitstorm” A faraway look came into his eyes, then he shook his head. “Anyway, we were tasked with shutting down communications between Rundstedt’s Headquarters and the 352nd Infantry Division. Do you know why we were grinning like madmen in that picture? Because we lived, and every other mage in our strike team died. They were good friends of ours, and we dropped right in on a high level German Zuaberer. I got caught in my chute, high up in a tree, and had to watch as Scarletti and the guys got blasted with Hellfire. I had to hang there, unable to do anything, and watch guys I had trained with and lived with for two years die while I struggled to cut myself down with a knife. By the time I was out of that tree, four Mages were dead and Scarletti had half his face melted off. That picture” and he pointed back to it “was us two days later, after some tanks from the 4th Infantry Division found us. Point is, we moved on, and continued to fight, even though to this day I feel guilty about not being able to help my friends.”
“I understand, Sergeant Major. It’s just that, well, they drill it into our heads how hooah and high speed us Mages are supposed to be, and I sure as shit don’t feel it.”
“Do you know who the toughest, baldest Mage around here is? Besides me?”
“Colonel Scarletti?”
“Well, yes, but not counting him, either. Nope. That dirtbag, Bognaski. I wouldn’t have anyone else at my side in a fight. He absolutely SUCKS at being a soldier, but he’s a quick thinker and fast on his feet in a bad situation. What I’m trying to say is, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were doing your job, and you got sucker punched by someone way more powerful than you. Even then, you had the presence of mind to stop that bullet from taking off your skull, and you did good after that kinetic energy strike on the base. Got it?”
Smith thought for a second. “I think so, Sergeant Major. I just wish I had more time to settle into the job, maybe it could have turned out different.”
“And maybe I screwed your grandmother seventy years ago and she never told anyone. Anything is possible, and there’s no use crying over what you don’t know. Now, get out of here and send Bognaski in here. Dismissed.”
Smith stood and pivoted, then walked to the door. He hesitated before turning the knob and said, “Thanks, Sergeant Major.”
“Get the hell out of here before I slap you on the back of the head, probie.”
Bognaski looked like he was heading to a firing squad as he passed Smith, head hung low. It was the first time that he had ever seen the irrepressible soldier really scared.
“Shut the door.” Bognaski closed the door behind him, and stood at Parade Rest, hands locked around his back, eyes straight forward. CSM McGhee sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. First stubbing out his cigar. He was going to need all his oxygen for this.
“Permission to sit, Sergeant Major?”
“No.”
McGhee looked at him a bit longer. Bognaski was starting to sweat, waiting for him to speak.
“Nasty,” he asked, knowing full well the answer “how long have you been in Mage Corps?”
“Uh, I joined right after 9-11, so, thirteen years now, Sergeant Major?”
“And how many times have you made Sergeant and been busted down?”
“Ah, twice, Sergeant Major. But one time, it wasn’t my fault. You see, there was this girl …”
McGhee launched himself up out of his chair and got full in Bognaski’s face.
“WHEN THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO LET IT GO?”
Bognaski swayed backward a bit and said “Excuse me, Sergeant Major?”
McGhee sat back down on the edge of the desk. “I asked you when you were going to let it go, Staff Sergeant. How many tours have you had in the last thirteen years? Don’t answer, I’ll tell you.” He opened a window in the air, and started reading the print that scrolled past.
“Four tours in Iraq, total time fifty months. Three tours in Durkistan, total twenty six months. Last one cut short, obviously. Silver Star for action in Iraq. Three Bronze Stars with V devices. Distinguished Service Cross for stopping a terrorist attack while off duty in San Francisco.”
Bognaski interrupted him “I was drunk, I don’t remember that.”
McGhee ignored him and continued “Three Purple Hearts. Combat Mage Badge. Combat Jump Wings. A goddamned Soldiers’ Medal for pulling a baby from a house fire.”
The older mage closed the window and turned back to him. “Nasty, it’s time for you to move on and get back in the game. I know you’re burnt out, but it’s time for you to man up and accept that this is what you were born to do. This shit, if I have any idea of what Colonel Scarletti has in mind, is not something you can hide from. It’s going to be very dangerous, and you’re going to have to LEAD.”
“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean, Sergeant Major.”
McGhee blew out an exasperated breath. “Nasty, I understand why you are the way you are. You keep yourself filthy so no one gets close to you anymore. How many of your class from the DMI are still alive?”
Bognaski knew the answer by heart. “There were twelve of us that year. Unless you count Kelso, and I don’t because he’s a vegetable, I’m the only one left.” He closed his eyes and remembered the Osprey flaming through the skies of Iraq, on fire, his team screaming as they were cut down by engine fragments and burning aviation fuel. He had grabbed Kelso and jumped, clasping his hand over the massive neck wound on his friend and free falling through the night air.
“You can’t run anymore, Nasty. There are less than a thousand Mages in all of Mage Command, including healers and Military Intelligence. We need you back.”
Sweat stood out on Bognaski’s face. “What do you mean, back?”
“I’m transferring you back to Strike. Effective immediately.”
He started to splutter “You can’t do that, Sergeant Major! I’m going to get them killed! YOU CAN’T PUT ME BACK IN STRIKE!”
“Can’t? I’m the goddamned MAGE CORPS SERGEANT MAJOR. Your days of riding easy on convoy protection duty are over, Staff Sergeant. I’m assigning you to Strike Team Seven.”
“Jesus Christ, not the fucking Lost Boys.”
McGhee laughed at him. “Yes, the Lost Boys. You’re going to have to exorcise your demons and work with Sergeant First Class Agostine and his merry band of killers.”
“What the hell did I do to deserve this, Sergeant Major?”
“You quit caring, Bognaski. It hurt too much, so you quit caring about the soldiers that need your skills. You may not like it, but you’re a damned good
Combat Mage, and I need you there to save lives and kill bad guys. It pisses me off to see you waste yourself like that, stinking up my office. Go take a shower, get a clean uniform on, and put your new rank on. I know what you were, and I know what you’re going to be. Dismissed.”
Smith met him on the other side of the door. “How did it go?”
“Remember those crazy Strike people that showed up at the FOB?”
“Yeah, the redheaded chick, and the guy with one leg? The big black dude who wants to kill you?”
Bognaski looked glum. “Yeah, them. I got assigned to their team. Eff my Freaking life, I’m going to die.”
Chapter 15 Mage Corps HQ, Medical Section
Smith lay on the gurney as Chief Houchins attached sensors to his face and head. Around them, medical machinery glowed and hummed, their green lights pulsing as they picked up his vital signs.
“Is this going to hurt?” He looked at the leather straps hanging loosely on the rails of the stretcher.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I could lie to you and say, not much, but yes, it’s going to hurt. In fact, it’s going to hurt a lot. As a matter of fact, I’m going to do my best to keep you from passing out.”
“Do I get a choice in this? Don’t I have to volunteer or something?”
Scarletti’s gravelly voice preceded him into the room. “You volunteered when you raised your right hand, Sergeant. However, I’m pretty sure you know how important this is. Sometimes, you gotta do, what you gotta do. We all may have to pay a price” and he pointed at the ruined side of his face.
“True that, Colonel. Let’s get this over with.” He lay back down and closed his eyes, but opened them when Chief Houchins bound his arms and legs to the bed with leather straps.
“Seriously?”
She nodded her head. “Seriously. Just try to relax.” The Healer put a rubber mouthpiece in between his teeth and tightened the straps.
A pale faced, short man wearing CW4 rank with the nametag “KRAUSE” stepped into the room and sat down on a chair next to Smiths bed. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in thirty years, and smelled musty. A typical Intel Mage, buried in his work and ignoring the outside world.
“Is he ready?” he asked Houchins,
“As ready as he’ll ever be.”
Krause passed his hand up and down Smiths body, about a foot over the bed. X felt a tingling, like a small electric shock, follow his hand. Krause put his other hand on what looked like a mouse pad wired to a laptop.
The next pass of his hand, the electric current felt stronger, and began to concentrate in his head. Smith started to sweat and feel uncomfortable. He looked over at Krause, who was watching the monitor. Chief Houchins was keeping an eye on another monitor that showed his heartbeat and other vitals. She touched Krause on the shoulder and said “Looks good, go ahead.”
A bolt of lightning shot through Smith, followed by excruciating pain. The foul smell of feces and urine filled the room as his body convulsed and he writhed on the bed. “MOTHERFUCKER! STOP! MAKE IT STOP!” he screamed through the mouthpiece. York sat nearby on a stool, biting her lip. Chief Houchins had forbidden her from interfering, told her to watch and keep silent.
It did stop, after what seemed an eternity. She wiped a cool, wet cloth cross his forehead, but did nothing to wipe away the aftermath of the pain that still wracked his body.
“Did you get it all?” Her answer was another bolt of pain that shot through Smith’s body, and he convulsed again, his body shaking the bed, the leather straps cutting into his wrists. Then it stopped, and he lay limply in the bed, moaning, with tears running down his face. Chief Houchins immediately placed her hand on his head and started murmuring a spell of soothing, putting him instantly asleep.
“I hope that was worth it.” The look of glee on Krause’s’ face disgusted her. “You don’t have to enjoy it, you know.”
“Megan, you don’t understand the feeling of doing a successful mind probe. I can teach you someday. It’s the most pure feeling of magic you can get! Maybe you will take me up on my dinner offer?”
“Some other time.” Creep, she added under her breath. She waved York over and they started cleaning Smith up.
Scarletti was leaning over the monitor, watching the playback. “Good job, Krause” he said, handing him a thumb drive. “Put it on here and meet us up in the briefing roof in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 16 Mage HQ Briefing Room
Most of the Staff of Mage Corps was assembled in the briefing room as Krause brought up the video on a large screen TV in the front of the room. They all sat around a long conference table with Colonel Scarletti at the head.
“Gentleman,” Scarletti started “we’re going to review Sergeant Smith’s memories of the ambush in the Gorengal Valley last month. I want everyone to look for details so we can begin to build an INTSUM on this guy. Here’s what we want to know. Who is he, what are his powers. What kind of threat is he, and where the hell did he come from?” He gestured to Krause to start the video.
It began with Smith’s view out of the turret. They walked though it at normal speed as he slapped the alert button, and followed his view as he looked up and down the convoy. Soldiers spread out, pulling security. They saw the soldier make the sign of the cross. The point of view shifted up to the terraces.
“Stop!” said the G-2, Major Perez. She told Krause to back up several frames and zoom in on the top of the ridgeline. She whistled low, and said “shit” under her breath.
The G-3 chimed in first with “That’s really not cool. Not cool at all.”
“You’re telling me” she said. “They did a pretty good job of camouflage but it’s still a big one. Almost a hundred feet. I’ve never seen a Brass Dragon in real life.”
Lieutenant Colonel Cunningham, the G-3, or Operations Officer, was a veteran of the First Gulf War. “I saw one take out a platoon of Abrams tanks and three Apaches on the Kuwait border in ‘91. It took a half dozen main gun rounds, three Hellfire missiles and a couple hundred rounds of 30 mike mike.”
“Noted” said Scarletti. “Bring it forward, Chief.”
The video continued, passing up and down the convoy and along the hills. The G-2 was taking furious notes. Occasionally she asked for the video to stop, back up, or zoom. Then they reached the part where the bullet slammed into Smith’s shoulder and the entire view got shaky as he fell into the turret.
“Thank God there isn’t any sound with this” said the Two. The scene showed the inside of the truck at an odd angle as Corporal Gaines screamed into the radio. The stars in Smith’s vision danced crazily, obscuring the video. They winced as a heavy caliber bullet shattered the window and the driver crumpled over. Gaines fired a long burst out the window from his rifle, and then the truck started to flip. A film of grey spread over the scene.
“OK, stop it here” said Scarletti. He turned in his chair to face Major Perez. “Emily, what can you tell us about their order of battle?”
She looked down at the pad she had been taking notes on. “Well, to start, there’s the dragon. Estimate one hundred feet, so that would make it in the order of a century old. Rule of thumb for dragons, one foot per year, up to around one hundred and fifty years old. After that they stop growing in length. Your friend Aed is around a hundred and fifty feet himself, but he’s almost three thousand years old, if you can believe the lies he likes to tell.” She scratched her chin with a pencil.
“Next, I saw two trolls hunkered down, on the military crest of the ridge. Again, good camouflage. Figure that’s the attacking forces Command Post. About a reinforced company of tribesmen backing up the Shaman. Heavy machine guns, mortars, all probably Chinese or Russian manufacture. They also have a pretty good sniper team armed with what seems to be a Barrett .50 caliber, or maybe a Russian 12.7 millimeter KSVK. I’d go with a Barrett though, there’s been a bunch of them purchased and shipped out of the states by the Pakistani Intelligence Agency, the ISR. They have been using shel
l companies to buy them and give them over to the Durkistani tribesmen.”
Scarletti made a pyramid with his fingers, and asked the G-3 what he thought. “Well, Sir, that would be a tough nut to crack. We wouldn’t be able to take it on with the forces in country, after the loss of a whole Brigade. If the Regular Army planners shift troops to deal with it, we’ll lose ground in the south, where they’re holding regional elections prior to our drawdown.”
“What about the Air Force?” asked LTC Bates, looking at Captain Guiles, the Air Force Liaison Officer. He looked uncomfortable being surrounded by Mages, and Scarletti had turned down his request for transfer twice.
“Well?” asked Scarletti. “Can you zoomies do the job?”
“In light of the direct line of sight weapons seen in the original video, the only thing we would be willing to risk would be standoff attack missiles. Which, in those mountains …”
“Won’t do shit” finished the G-3 for him. “As we saw at Tora Bora, those hills will be honeycombed with caves.”
The Mage Corps Commander turned to the man at the end of the table from him. “What do you think, Jose?”
“I’ll wait on the rest of the video.” The man who answered was small, with a deeply lined and tanned face, framed by a white, cropped beard. On his head sat a battered Yankees ball cap, and he wore a shirt that said “Liber Puerto Rico”. He moved as if every joint in his body needed a shot of oil, but his dark eyes still had a glimmer in them, and his voice was firm.
“Chief Krause, play it.”
The scene came slowly back into focus as Smith regained consciousness. The first thing they saw was the muzzle of an AK – 47. Behind it, looking over the sights, was a scraggly, gap toothed Durkistani tribesman. Smith slowly turned his head.
“Stop” said Scarletti. “Back up.” The scene scrolled slightly backward. “Stop. OK, ignore the sandals. Focus on the battlefield. What do you see?”
Jose spoke up first. “That’s a Death Knight. The figure in the back, beheading people. Funny, I didn’t hear about THAT in the paper.”