“Four at most,” said Tilehurst.
“Do you have three warm bodies that can keep up with our hunter here?” rumbled Colonel Phillip Kirkpatrick of the 2nd Parachute Regiment, 16th Air Assault Brigade.
“Not a chance, not close by,” said Tilehurst. “So it’s settled. Our hunter will be going in alone. The next question is: how do we get him in?”
The expressions above and below several bushy mustaches indicated that some, at least, didn’t consider anything settled at all. The discussion moved on before anyone could object, however.
“HALO,” said Kirkpatrick cryptically.
“I’m sorry, sir?” I said politely.
Kirkpatrick turned to Tilehurst and fixed him with an amused look.
“What on Earth are you teaching these boys over there, Dillon?” he demanded.
“This one must have slipped through our intelligence test, Phillip.”
“A HALO jump, young man,” said Kirkpatrick, “is a High Altitude, Low Opening jump. We kick you out of a plane at thirty thousand feet and you fall like a stone and open your ‘chute at the last minute.”
“Sounds like fun, sir,” I replied carefully. “I’m game.”
“Oh good Lord no,” the Para officer replied dismissively. “If you don’t know what you’re doing you can end up miles off target. Or splattered over the surrounding scenery.”
I nodded and tried to look disappointed. Tilehurst gave me an amused look. I’d done several HALO jumps in the Regiment and he knew it. What he didn’t know was that HALO jumps terrify me. I’m afraid of heights. There, I said it. I wanted to go in by helicopter. We’d be lower and have a lot of backup firepower.
Several other ideas were considered and rejected until Colonel Terry Peters suggested using one of his Army Air Corps helicopters.
“They’ll hear it coming, sir,” I objected mildly.
“Not a problem, young man,” said Peters expansively. “We run patrols pretty far up there, giving the vamps something to run from. Can’t use their damn tricks on a helicopter pilot they can’t even see.”
“I like it, you know,” said Tilehurst, giving his seal of approval.
“We’ll run a patrol up north, shoot up a few acres of empty forest, and drop you a few miles from your target,” Phillips continued. “They’ll never see you coming.”
“It would work, sir,” I agreed cautiously. “Can your choppers hang around in case I need their guns, sir?”
“Capital idea, young man,” said the AAC man. “We can also pack a few soldiers in the choppers and take along some gunships to use if the shit hits the fan.”
I could see mollified expressions around the table. A backup of heavily armed attack choppers plus a few squads of troops made the op seem more like regular military thinking. I was no longer the lone gun going into hostile territory; I was the point man for an armed assault.
The fact that I would never call for the backup occurred to no-one except Tilehurst, who was looking at me with barely disguised admiration.
We broke for lunch at that point.
“Tell me, Henderson,” said Tilehurst, pulling me to one side as lunch was served, “you ever baby me through an O group like that?”
“No, sir, wouldn’t do that sir,” I said.
“Don’t give me that wide-eyed innocent bollocks, Jack,” he said, cutting across the ranks and giving me permission to do the same. “I seem to remember a feisty young sergeant gently pointing out the bloody obvious before our action in Romania.”
“That wasn’t for your benefit, boss,” I said. “That was for the Rupert who believed in using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut.”
“Good point,” he said. “Okay, it’s your show, I’ll follow your lead.”
“I appreciate it, boss.”
Lunch was tedious and filled with waffling talk from all sides. I kept to myself, turning my plan over in my head while I ate some sort of bland chicken dish. I wanted to get into the manor undetected and remain under the radar until I killed Glavidia. I could see several ways this could be accomplished and chewed them over, attacking the problem from all sides, whittling down the possibilities.
“Pagan?” came a voice from behind me.
I turned and saw the trim figure of a woman in a Royal Navy uniform. She was young to be wearing a Captain’s insignia, her brown hair only slightly shot through with silver, her face barely lined. I stood quickly.
“Sorry, ma’am, was miles away.”
“Oh sit down,” she said irritably and placed her tray on the table next to mine. “I’m Carol Dent, by the way.”
I didn’t sit until she had. My father was responsible for the part that extended that courtesy for an officer, my mother for the part that did it for a woman.
“This is mind-numbing isn’t it?” she said, indicating the room full of high-powered men. “Sorry I was late, by the way. I hear from Dillon that you’ve just about manipulated our boys into ordering you to do what you were going to do all along anyway.”
She looked thoughtful for a second.
“That was a terribly constructed sentence, but you get my point.”
“I’m not sure I do, ma’am,” I said, radiating honesty and integrity.
She leaned a little away from me and gave me a critical look.
“If I were ten years younger,” she said thoughtfully, “I’d take you to bed and prove that you’re not nearly as innocent as all that.”
I could only stare, openmouthed.
“But I don’t think my husband would approve,” she said lightly, taking a bite of chicken. “And neither would your wife.”
“I’m not married, ma’am,” I said frankly, but she interrupted before I could go on.
“You may not wear a ring, young man, but you might as well have ‘taken’ written on your forehead,” she said with a smile. “Any woman could tell you that.”
I raised my eyebrows and said nothing.
“So,” she said with a sly smile. “How are we going to get all these Ruperts and Rodneys to approve of your plan? Dillon says he’s going to follow your lead, but I don’t know you that well. Give me some hints.”
My mental gearbox screamed as I tried to change gear.
“Uh, there’s two ways in that I can see, ma’am. There’s a tunnel that leads from the manor to the servant’s quarters. They used to use it for deliveries and stuff. It leads right to the kitchens. Or I can go in via the roof. The roof will be more exposed but from there it’ll be simple getting into the attic.”
“Whereas you’ll have no idea who or what’s in the tunnel or the kitchens,” she pointed out. “Okay, you suggest the tunnel and Dillon will shoot you down, then I’ll suggest the roof and you object a little.”
I raised an eyebrow. Clearly this was a woman to be reckoned with.
“What about once you’re inside?”
“That depends on where the target is, ma’am. If she’s in the main hall it’s a short step to the maintenance balcony that runs around it. From there I can make a shot with ease.”
“If she’s somewhere else?”
“I don’t think she will be ma’am. This is some big event with important people. She’ll want to be in the center of things.”
“For the look of things,” she said, nodding.
“Not quite, ma’am,” I said. “Vamps live on power, power over others. She’ll need to be in the center of things because these other vamps will be watching for weakness. If they’re gonna throw their weight behind some vamp to be their front, they’ll want to make sure it’s the right one. She’ll need to show them she’s got the power and the strength to rule. It’s not just giving the impression of being in control, it’s actually being in control.”
The Captain nodded soberly as she ate.
“I think we can take care of that,” she said finally.
With two allies the afternoon was easy. Kirkpatrick was gently prodded into asserting that only a ‘damn fool’ would think of going in any way except the roof. Montgomery-St
andish eventually insisted that ‘any idiot could see’ Glavidia would be in the main hall. From there Kirkpatrick came back and deftly pointed out that, given my experience with the FAL, only a ‘blithering simpleton’ would suggest anything other than a sniper shot from the maintenance balcony that ran around the roof of the hall.
Yes, I know. It’s amazing that these diverse and, I’m sure, experienced gentlemen could come up with the exact same plan I had.
As the meeting broke up Captain Dent cornered me.
“I brought a little package up with me when I came,” she said with a grin. “I’m afraid I had the advantage of you earlier.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry, young man,” she said. “You will.”
And with that cryptic comment she left me alone in the room.
CHAPTER
12
It was getting late. My helicopter was going to leave late tomorrow afternoon and I wanted a good night’s sleep. I managed to collar a young airman to drive me to Gateway House. Somehow he was able to drive and stare at me at the same time. Probably surprised at the lack of horns or something. Still, I got my lift and I only had to pay with another autograph.
Gateway House is exactly what you’d expect from a hotel run by the military for the military. Most rooms had a bed, a shower, a mirror for shaving, a place to hang your clothes up and that’s about it. Rumor has it that some rooms have televisions, but I’ve never seen one. There’s also supposed to be a ghost on one of the upper stories but I’ve never seen that either. It was a place to sleep and nothing more, which suited me just fine.
I rode the lift up to the third floor and wandered down to my room, trying not to think about tomorrow. I had the key in my hand when my senses suddenly jangled. Something was off, some sensory clue out of place, like a flat note in the world. It wasn’t wrong, per se, but just off. Something was not where it was supposed to be. I had left my FAL locked up in the room, but had both of my sidearms. I slipped my SIG from its holster and eased the slide back, cocking the weapon with barely a sound before quietly unlocking the door to my room. As I eased inside the sense of something being off increased until suddenly my nose managed to communicate with my conscious brain. I could smell Marie. Not perfume, but the complex combination of subtle scents unique to her. It was Marie, but that was impossible. She was miles away.
I closed the door behind me. The room was dark, a narrow shaft of light spilling out from the bathroom through the slightly open door. It was enough to pick out the shape of someone on the bed. I put the SIG back in the holster and shook my head. The Captain’s ‘package’, apparently. I crossed to the bed, moving as silently as possible, and my eyes confirmed it. Marie was here, asleep, beautiful and sensual.
She was lying on her side, her face peaceful and serene, her blonde hair flowing over the pillow in a golden halo, her legs drawn up slightly. One hand was under her head; the other was palm down on the mattress in front of her. She was wearing one of my green army-issue shirts and, judging by the amount of smooth skin that was visible where the fabric had ridden up in her sleep, nothing else.
I removed my gunbelt, trying hard not to disturb the picture of beauty before me, and knelt to unlace my boots. I straightened and kicked them off, causing her to stir in her sleep.
“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” I said softly, “and they’re still there!”
Marie’s face creased as she fought to keep from smiling.
“No, that’s the Three Bears,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m the Big Bad Wolf, remember?”
She rolled over, laying flat on the bed, and gave me a smile that headed straight for my groin.
“You took your time,” she said quietly.
“And you’re not where I left you,” I responded.
She shrugged and then jumped up, kneeling on the bed, bringing her head level with mine. I pulled her into my arms and brushed her lips with mine.
“Nice outfit,” I murmured. And kissed her again, more firmly this time.
“I had to see you again,” she said quietly.
“I’m glad you did,” I replied.
Some goodbyes, apparently, need to be done more than once.
It was almost midnight, the sounds of the airfield muted in consideration of the surrounding town. The only military sounds audible were a pair of Apache helicopters patrolling in the distance. In the room were the contented murmurs and loving whispers of a couple in love, basking in the afterglow. I noticed that we were unconsciously touching each other, fingertips brushing faces, arms, shoulders, hips in a wordless expression of our desire for reassurance.
“Why can’t it be like this more often?” asked Marie.
“It will be, love,” I replied.
“It will?”
“Of course. We’ll win the war, drive out the vampires, and we’ll be able to retire.”
She slid her arms around me, snuggling against my chest.
“I like the sound of that,” she whispered.
“So do I.”
“We can get a little place somewhere.”
“Yeah, we can.”
“Going for long walks after it rains.”
“Mmmmmm. Sounds nice.”
“Making lazy love on Sunday mornings.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm.”
“You holding me tight when it thunders.”
“Mmmm-hmm.”
“Me going shopping for lingerie to wear on our anniversary.”
“Mmmmmmmm … Mmm-hmmmmm.”
“Pulling meteorites out of the sky to dine on.”
“Mmmmm … wait … what?”
She laughed and sat up, slapping me lightly on the shoulder.
“I knew you were falling asleep on me,” she said.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m just shattered.”
“And what could you be doing that would make you so tired?”
“Long day,” I said, blinking and sitting up next to her. “Started and ended with me doing energetic things with the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Well tell her to leave you alone,” she said impishly. “You need to save some for me.”
“Hardy har har,” I said affectionately. “Funny.”
Her face grew serious.
“You really think we’ll win? Really? Beat the vampires and take back the country?”
“Of course we will,” I said. “We’re the good guys. Don’t you watch the movies? The good guys always win.”
She broke up into delighted laughter and hugged me tight.
“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, you know that don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” I said. “And I love you.”
She kissed me deeply, her hands running through my hair.
“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you,” she whispered against my lips.
“Liar,” I whispered back. “You must have hated me, the way I treated you.”
“At first, maybe. But I ended up impressing you, didn’t I?”
My memory floated back to that day, three months ago.
CHAPTER
13
THREE MONTHS AGO…
I was angry as I stalked down the corridors of the Ministry training facility. I was angry because I was here to pick up three new recruits. Recruits always fuck things up. You end up watching them when you should be watching your back.
It hadn’t helped that the Minister had been dismissive of my concerns. Okay, so ‘concerns’ is a quiet word for the shouting match we’d just had, but I’d like to think I managed to retain at least a modicum of respect and dignity.
I stomped down a highly polished hallway and into the main reception area. My three FNGs were there. Fucking New Guys. Okay, so one Fucking New Guy and two Fucking New Girls. I’d glanced through their files.
The guy was RAF Regiment, the crab’s version of a ground-pounder. ‘Rock Apes’ they were called and this guy fit the nam
e. If he had a neck I couldn’t see it. Before I even saw him he was named. ‘Rock Ape’ it is.
The taller of the two girls was Army, an unarmed combat instructor. She became ‘Knuckles’.
The other girl was a civilian. I threw out her file the moment I read that. No military experience. She became ‘Washout’.
So I had Rock Ape, Knuckles and Washout. Great. As soon as I walked through the door I started to reevaluate things in respect of Washout. The other two were standing rigidly to attention. Rock Ape was pure, unrestrained fire support material: I knew his type. You gave him an SSW and pointed him in the right direction. He pulled the trigger and held on, pouring lead onto your target until he ran out or you told him to stop. Useful, just not particularly desirable. He was built like a bull and had a peach fuzz of dark hair over big ears that stuck out like open doors on a car.
Knuckles was a little woman with a big chip on her shoulder, which was clear from her file. She’d spent her career taking delight in kicking the stuffing out of male recruits in symbolic revenge for some insult, real or imagined. She had short black hair and cold blue eyes. She might have been attractive if she ever got that stick out of her arse. More importantly, she would be a great asset if she would only let go.
Washout was a stunner. She was slim and beautiful—and she wasn’t standing at attention. She wasn’t slouching, she was simply relaxed, respectful but not subordinate. And whilst the other two were staring fixedly at a spot on the wall behind me, she was looking at me in frank and open appraisal. I met her eyes and she didn’t look away. Intriguing.
I did a slow circuit of the three of them, looking at each in turn, evaluating with my gaze. I noticed, only in passing of course, that Washout had a very shapely behind.
I stopped in front of Rock Ape.
“Where is your weapon?” I snapped suddenly.
“In the armory, sir!”
My eyes narrowed. Parade ground bull has its place. My squad is not that place.
“Yours?” I snapped at Knuckles.
“In the armory, sir!”
I transferred my gaze to Washout, looking into those deep, intelligent blue eyes.
“They won’t let us carry weapons unless under orders, Sarge,” she said calmly.
Pagan (MPRD Book 1) Page 8