“We need to get busy here,” I said, glancing around the group. “Geek, according to Athena, you should have access to some information on our destination. Maps, recent satellite and thermal imaging of the area—a full intelligence package. Bring that up, and let’s figure out a plan of attack.”
I pulled a dry-erase board up from my armory, leaned it against the wall, and we spent the next few hours creating a plan based on what we knew. According to the maps and the limited information we had received from Fakhri so far, our most troublesome issue was that much of Medea’s operation took place inside a convoluted system of tunnels inside a virtually unexplored mountain. The witch’s current base of operations was near the top of Mt. Alvand in the Zagros Mountain chain separating Iraq and Iran, at nearly eleven thousand feet. Alvand was also a nexus point for the Telluric Ways, meaning the amount of energy that flowed through that mountain was incalculable.
Luckily, some of the shallower ends of the tunnels near the rocky, snow-covered surface showed up on thermal-imaging scans, but old geological surveys suggested that the cave complex, connected to at least four distinct tunnel mouths, could cover as much as ten square miles. It was a logistical nightmare.
The thermal scans weren’t detailed or even recent enough to give us any real idea of the size of the population within, either. The entrances always showed a few random humanoid heat signatures, and our only solid piece of information on the numbers we might be facing was that one particular cave mouth had significantly more traffic than the others. Still, all they showed were a few dozen of Medea’s creatures. Fakhri made it sound like she had hundreds.
To press the issue of urgency further, now that Medea had the chain she was after, I had to assume she was capable of carrying out her plan immediately, so whatever we did had to happen very soon.
“Can’t we just get the girl to tell us more about the warren of tunnels and her army?” Frigate asked, leaning back in his seat.
“As much as I would like her to, no,” I replied, shaking my head. “We don’t have the time to wait for her to recover enough to help us out, and I will not allow anyone to push her beyond her capabilities, especially after all she’s been through.”
“You’re aware that Medea knows we’re on to her,” Duma added, flipping one of his smaller stone knives in his hand. “And if she uses the Cup, she might know everything about any plan we devise.”
“So be it,” I replied. “We need to attack so quickly that even if she knows our plan, she won’t be able to respond to it in time. Terrorist cells are often poorly organized and ill equipped for rapid response or defensive campaigns. Plus, Medea, while undoubtedly a brutal despot and a powerful sorceress, is not a battlefield general. In fact, her favorite tactic always seems to be to run away.”
I was convinced our only real option was to hit her hard and very fast. And I was good at that. I continued outlining my plan, sketching a few ideas on the board as I went.
“Based on our intelligence, our best bet is to break into one support and three assault units and cover all the known entrances into the tunnels. We enter the three less-trafficked caves simultaneously and then conduct a coordinated search, remaining in constant communication while we move quickly, clearing any resistance as quietly as possible. This approach should allow us to find Medea and then converge on her as expeditiously as possible.”
“Why not just have one team create a distraction to clear the way for the other teams?” Sarah asked, pointing at the board. “Might make it easier for the other teams to advance.”
“Couple of reasons,” I replied, leaning on the table. “First, I’m not crazy about sacrificing any of the lives of my team, including the Spartoi, in a forlorn-hope operation. Second, I’m afraid that the distraction would alert Medea to our presence and allow her to escape before we can get to her.”
Everyone nodded in response.
“The two heavily armed Spartoi squads and my team with Ab and Duma will breach,” I continued. “Frigate, Geek, and Sarah, you will, from a distance, watch the main cave entrance, directing Frigate as he takes out any targets of opportunity. You will move in only after we find Medea.”
“Accordin’ to these topographic maps, Chief, looks like there’s an ideal sniper’s roost among the rocky outcroppings just opposite the high-traffic cave mouth,” Frigate said, bending over the map with a steel ruler he’d picked up off the table to make a few measurements. “Looks like it’s just over six hundred yards out. Should be doable, even in the high winds, altitude, and cold conditions.”
“Perfect,” I said grinning more than smiling in response.
Even Duma cocked his head and arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed with the statement.
“Um, only one issue, Demo,” Geek said sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “How are we supposed to stay in constant communications inside a mountain, mate?”
He had a significant and valid concern I hadn’t really thought of until he mentioned it. Of course, I’d never had to plan an assault on a mountain while directing a team, either. Our normal Spitfire SATCOM setup would be a satellite-UHF-VHF-based encrypted system, which wouldn’t work underground, making remote communications in a cave all but impossible. “Well,” I said, throwing my hands up.
Before I could even muster a response to his concern, he piped up excitedly with a solution that took him nearly twenty minutes to explain. Once he was done with his dissertation on satellite – and VHF-based communications gear in underground situations and had outlined his solution to the problem, Geek gazed at us animatedly, clearly expecting a similarly enthusiastic reaction in return. We were all stunned into silence. Or boredom. One or the other.
“Ah, yeah. Sounds thrilling.” Duma yawned and got up to walk around.
“Just in case any of y’all wondered why we call him Geek,” Frigate said, stretching his arms and legs.
Ab’s head was down, and his chin was resting on his chest. I decided he was checking his eyelids for leaks.
To make his solution a reality, Geek needed dozens of extra AN/PRC 126 radios to set up as relay units and enough time to reconfigure them, or we would be going in deaf, and that was unacceptable, not to mention idiotic. Aside from the fact that Medea knew we were coming, we were already compromising the assault by rushing my timetable, and that was the only concession I’d make.
“Look, I need to debrief the Spartoi and contact Athena about getting the radios Geek needs. Don’t waste the time. Make sure you’re geared up and ready to roll when I say. Geek, in the meantime, any help you need, just ask. There should be a half-dozen of the radios in my armory. That should start you off.”
I walked back outside. I’d barely made it around the corner of the shack when I ran into one of the Spartoi.
At my presence, he came to a rigid halt and bowed his head slightly. “General Tydides, please, if you will follow me,” he said with his head still bowed.
“Of course,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “I need to update your team, as well.”
The Spartoi encampment was down the beach in a clearing among some sea grapes and coconut palms. It looked like the military camps I remembered from my youth: simple tents with several cooking pits and a longer central tent for storage and arms.
The Spartoi all were identical in their khaki fatigues and standard Combat Integrated Releasable Armor System, or CIRAS body armor, and tactical holsters strapped to their thighs. They could have passed for giant Marines, which was actually comforting. Each one was a near-replica of the other: six and a half feet tall, well built, with short-cropped sandy hair, a square jaw, and brown eyes. Their skin was as pale as dried bone. Their only distinguishing features were the scars they’d accumulated. With few exceptions, they lacked individual identities, and preferred things that way. The leader who stepped forward when I arrived had three stripes tattooed ac
ross his cheek.
Before I could say a word, I felt Athena’s presence, and then she stepped out from the supply tent dressed exactly as she had been earlier. Instantly, the Spartoi came to rigid attention as a group, standing as stiff as the teeth they came from.
“Good,” I said, pointing at her. “We need to talk.”
“Indeed. You were correct. It is most certainly Croesus’s treasure that was unearthed by the plane crash, and Medea now has Alysideus Prometheus.”
“Hey, she had a dozen minions, a few ghouls, and a freakin’ ogre,” I said, trying to defend my failure to stop Medea in Bulgaria. “And—wait. Ally who?”
“Alysideus Prometheus,” Athena replied, standing a few feet in front of me with her hands held loosely behind her back. Her eyes were an intense blue but not flashing. Her face reminded me of a porcelain mask except for the slight crease between her brows. She didn’t appear perturbed, just concerned.
“It is the name given the chain that bound Prometheus at Scythia. It cannot be broken by whatever is bound by it, and it can only be broken by one with unselfish motives. Lest you forget, it once held a Titan for millennia.”
Heracles, one of the earliest Guardians, broke the chain to free Prometheus. He did it in defiance of his benefactor, Zeus. His actions, though noble, did not bode well for him, and he died a treacherous death a few years later. While he died hundreds of years before my time, I was sure he would have argued it was worth it.
All this talk about Titans got me thinking about the other name the deformed creature had mentioned. “So we know what Croesus means, but what about Perses? I know he’s Hecate’s father.”
“Yes, he is, but fortunately, he is no longer as strong as he once was,” Athena said, turning out toward the beach. “And now Medea has the chain that once bound his cousin.”
“Okay, I get it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “But why bind a Titan at all? Zeus did it to punish Prometheus, but I doubt he was a willing captive. Surely Medea isn’t strong enough to hold Perses down and bind him even if he is weakened.”
“I don’t know, but Hecate has always despised her father, and with her help, Medea just might have the strength. With the rise in the popularity of the various witch religions, Hecate has become stronger over the past half century. The situation worries me. I fear that Perses’s penchant for destruction and disorder may make him a vessel powerful enough to contain the entropic energy that Medea is gathering for her ritual. I can foresee no acceptable outcome, either here on Earth or in our own realm, if you do not stop her. Members of the Golden Dawn suggest that the energy could be used to start or prolong wars in already unstable regions or destabilize tentative peace accords. Its effects could even undermine the détente between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, which would disrupt the natural order of the world.”
Her statement about human wars bothered me, but the comment about the fae had the impact of a Mack truck. My understanding of the fae was that Queen Mab of the Unseelie Court and Queen Titania of the Seelie Court were once, in fact, the same being. A schism caused by the appearance of humans and an argument over what to do with our emerging new species resulted in the ruling entity splitting into two separate beings—opposite sides of the same coin—and led to the formation of the two separate Courts. It was said that neither side could hold sway for long without upsetting the balance of nature and that those swings in the balance brought about climate changes, pestilence, and even plagues. In the past, when those wars occurred, the fledgling human species wasn’t very numerous, but entire populations were still lost as collateral damage. A full-scale war between the Courts now would be devastating to the vast human population.
“Can’t someone warn Perses?” I asked, contemplating the ramifications of Medea’s plan.
“Even now, I have messengers attempting to do so,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “But our realm is not like this one. Finding him could take some time.”
“Forgive me, my lady.” The leader of the Spartoi took a few rigid steps forward to approach her before bowing his head in deference.
“Speak,” she said without looking at him, either.
“Perhaps you should join us in this fight. Surely, then—”
As he spoke, I shook my head vigorously and drew my hand across my throat, hoping to deter the guy from continuing down that thought path. To my surprise, Athena just exhaled heavily. In the past, when people had suggested Athena enter the fight, the consequences had been swift and quite visually stunning—and utterly final.
“Master-at-arms Icosa, I cannot fight this or any other battle in this world,” she replied, her eyes losing their glow. “This is not my world, and I cannot in good conscience continue to help here if I choose to interfere any more than I already do. And it would be hypocritical for me to do what I so vociferously try to keep my brethren from doing. That is why I charge Diomedes with such tasks here. In him, I will be with you. I trust in him. You should as well.” Her face showed no sign of emotion, and her eyes remained flat after she spoke.
The Spartoi thumped his chest in salute and then returned to his previous post. Her disheartened response worried me. She said she trusted me, but I couldn’t help but feel she thought we were outmatched.
Without warning, four of Athena’s personal guards ducked out of the supply tent behind us, carrying four wooden crates. They were the best of her Spartoi, and they were outfitted with golden armor and weapons fashioned by Hephaestus himself. Not that she needed their protection, but she always traveled with them. The gilded soldiers— I liked to think of them as gold-capped teeth—set the crates down and then stood at attention. “AN/PRC 126 radio units” was stenciled on the sides of each one. Given that I desperately needed the radios and time was of the essence, I decided to forgive her this one time for actively being inside my mind.
She glanced back at them briefly without changing her dour expression and then placed her hand on my shoulder. The gesture struck me—not just because she never allowed physical contact but also because I could feel her energy surge into me through the connection. Her eyes flared electric blue once again, and her face darkened into the sharp, raptor-like features of her warrior-self. Strength and confidence washed over me, and the pain caused by the burns on my legs subsided completely.
It was easy to see why humans had worshiped the Protogenoi throughout history. The Old Ones were powerful beings even on Earth—and even more so when they were surrounded by those who believed in them as deities. I no longer believed in beings like her as I once did—she didn’t need me to. There was a great difference between believing and knowing. Belief was one of the most powerful forces in this world, and her kind fed off it and used it to augment their strength. It was a dangerous situation for humans as a race, and it had been abused many times—hence my job.
“You must stop her, Diomedes. I am sorry to rely on you once again, but I have no choice. I fear for your safety and the safety of those who fight alongside you. The Spartoi will not let you down.” Her eyes continued to flare as she spoke, but her face changed back to that of a beautiful woman.
It was not lost on me that I was the only human that she had ever allowed see her in her true form. Even Odysseus, whom she favored almost as much as me, saw her only in disguise.
“I bid you strength and honor, my warrior,” she said, lowering her hand from my shoulder as she walked back toward the tent.
Her guards surrounded her, and they disappeared back into the supply tent. Her presence, but not her energy, simply evaporated.
CHAPTER 32
After Athena left, I explained our plan of attack to the Spartoi and had them help me carry the crates of radios back to the shanty. As we walked through the mangroves in the failing light of evening, I could hear the thundering report of what was unmistakably a fifty-caliber rifle from up the beach. Frigate was sighting in his weapons.
Fortunately, the nearest neighbor was twenty miles away.
The Spartoi waited with the crates outside while I entered the shanty. Duma and Ab were sitting around the table, checking over their own gear. Geek was sitting in a corner of the shanty at a table brought up from my underground armory, and he was working on our radios under my fly-tying lamps. He had a throat mike on and an earpiece in one ear and was peering through my magnifying glass from under a bizarre visor with lights and lenses as I approached him. His eyes were distorted to an enormous size, and the lights practically blinded me.
“How’s it going?” I asked, holding my hand up to shield my eyes.
“Sorry.” He reached up to switch the lights off. “Bang-up, actually. Got four done already. Everything seems to work just fine.”
“Good work, Geek,” I said, buoyed by his progress. “The rest of your radios are just outside with the Spartoi. Tell them what to do, and they’ll help. Where’s Sarah?” I glanced from Geek to Ab and then Duma for an answer.
Nobody responded for a few long seconds.
“Down the beach… with Frigate,” Duma finally said, raising his eyebrows, trying to get a rise out of me.
“Knock it off. We leave as soon as Geek’s finished,” I said and then hiked down the beach.
It wasn’t hard to find them, even in the darkness of the early evening. In the bright moonlight, unimpeded by the light noise of any cities or towns, I could see Frigate lying on a mat, snuggled up to a massive Barrett M107A1 rifle with his face right behind a Leupold Mark 4 scope fitted with a night-vision attachment. An MK 13 Mod 5 sniper rifle lay next to him. Sarah sat cross-legged next to him, peering through a spotter’s scope, giving him information about windage and range at a target way out on the flat. She had a Kriss Super V Vector across her lap.
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