Op File Revenge (Call Sign Warlock Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “The brackets are backwards,” he mumbled as he stopped his four-wheeler.

  Getting out, he examined the three fence fasteners. The specs called for all nuts to face the perimeter wall. Reaching in the back of his vehicle, he pulled out a wrench and removed four brackets on the adjacent post. Once free, Wesley pushed aside the fencing and walked into the compound.

  For a second, he thought he heard the knocking of a shuttle’s engine. A glance at his watch showed he had an hour before all work must be completed - plenty of time.

  The six nuts spun off and he deposited them in his pocket. From the back of a building he heard the sound of a door opening. Turning, Wesley stood opened mouthed.

  Three large men, well over two meters tall, pushed and jostled each other as they fell into the compound. They wore flight suits peeled down to their waists displaying muscular physiques with little fat. A red ball of some sort seemed to be the reason for their dispute. When one slapped the ball, it spun away and rolled down the slight incline. Settling against the fence near the Superintendent, he figured on tossing it back.

  Because of the bad knee, he turned around and leaned forward to pick up the ball. Only it wasn’t an air inflated ball. Slapping it with his hand produced a sound like a ripe melon. Thinking it was an unusual vegetable, he had his head down studying it when he turned to face the compound.

  Wesley Abel saw the toe of one big boot. He didn’t see the mitt sized fist that caved in the side of his head and snapped his neck. Nor did he see the half alien Constabulary Troop pick up the fruit and begin casually strolling along the fence line.

  ***

  A Marine patrol came through the gate and walked halfway around the perimeter road before spotting the off-road vehicle. At a double time, they arrived at the opening in the fence and spotted the body.

  “Red alert, lockdown. I say again red alert, lockdown,” the fire team leader radioed. “General Tuulia to the rear of the compound.”

  Moments later, Tuulia and a squad of Marines burst from the side gate and jogged to the patrol. She stopped and stood looking through the fence at the body.

  “Why was the backdoor unlocked?” she questioned her Sergeant.

  “I don’t know ma’am. It was secure when I did my rounds before the first shuttle of Troops landed,” the NCO replied. “What are you going to do, General?”

  “This is a secret POW camp for aliens,” Tuulia said softly. “What else can we do. We are going to lie for the greater good.”

  Chapter – 2 Natalie Harleen

  At the grave site for Wesley Abel, Natalie clutched a crumpled-up piece of paper in her hand. It wasn’t from the box of legal documents with Wesley’s will for her and Pierre. Or the personal effects which included his Personal Information Device. Or the program for the funeral. The paper contained sketchy details about the accident.

  Superintendent Wesley Abel, while climbing a ladder to inspect a coupling, lost his balance and fell to his death. It produced more questions for Natalie than answers. Wesley’s right knee hurt if he even climbed a step stool. Why would he be on a ladder tall enough that the fall would kill him?

  The funeral was attended by weathered men from Wesley’s crew. Before the clergyman began, a Galactic Council Marine Corps staff car rolled to a stop on the road. From the driver’s door a woman Marine, in her dress blues, stepped out. She marched to the rear door and opened it. Another Marine emerged from the car. This one had a sword and stars on her collar.

  “That’s her. The one from the job,” whispered a man in front of Natalie.

  “Shut up man, remember the D.N.D. and the penalty,” the man next to him warned.

  Natalie watched the General make her way across the grass to the grave site. What job required a do not disclose document? A secret military installation no doubt seeing as a General took time to attend the funeral. But why lie about Wesley Abel’s death?

  ***

  At home after the services, Natalie plucked Wesley’s PID from a box and powered it up. A few scrolls later and she had a set of coordinates for the last time the device was on. The map of planet Dos came up on her viewer and she typed in the longitude and latitude.

  She studied the picture of the mountains and the great forest. She enlarged it. Changing the angle didn’t reveal any new information. The location was kilometers from any highways or towns. Besides the thick trees, the only recognizable feature was a dirt road winding its way through the foliage.

  When she directed the view to follow the road, the screen went blank. A notice appeared, due to technical difficulties, we are unable to comply with your request. Shutting down the viewer, she decided to try her luck tomorrow on the school’s viewer. Maybe they had a better connection.

  ***

  The west wind had rolled in hours ago and was beginning its tail. Natalie stopped to watch from the second level cross over. Trees bent and the grass rippled as wave after wave of powerful wind marked the passing of the daily event.

  From a side door, fifteen students and six teachers ran out. While the students cradled shiny, white cloths in their arms and lined up along a wall, five of the teachers jumped into golf carts. All stayed against the windbreak wall waiting for the last teacher, who Natalie recognized as the head coach.

  The head coach of the wind-kite team strolled to the end of the wall and held up an anemometer. After checking the wind speed twice, the teacher waved the students forward. Each student had a helmet, knee and elbow padding and goggles. While they clustered around the teacher, the other teachers drove onto the long athletic field and raced to positions on the far end.

  Five students, who Natalie recognized as seniors, broke from the cluster and tossed the white cloth into the air. Catching the wind, the airfoil kites billowed to their full length and the students ran while adjusting the control lines.

  One student jumped and rose into the air. By manipulating the control lines, he weaved between spots marked on the ground. Landing halfway down the field, he sprinted to keep his balance then jumped. Again, the kite pulled him into the air and he navigated the markers.

  Another senior allowed her kite to rise high over her head before angling it to catch the full force of the wind. She soared upward and, at a height twice that of the first senior, she began flipping her body between the control handles. At one point, she pressed into a handstand. But the blunt downward pressure spilled air and the kite arched over, threatening to crash the kite rider to the ground. Before hitting, she righted herself and with the control handles held low on her chest, the airfoil inflated and, the acrobatic flyer touched down. A quick sprint and she was aloft again, doing a final flip before reaching the end of the field.

  Natalie watched for a few minutes more before strolling towards the library. After her mother’s death, she’d quit the kite rider team. Playing in the wind had lost its appeal as the tragic reality of her world zapped her enthusiasm for fun.

  She walked into the library and glanced at a bulletin board. The names of six recent graduates, who had died when Empress forces attacked Orbital station, glowed on the board. The year they graduated and their branch of service was listed below their pictures. Two were Marines. Natalie studied the dress blue uniforms remembering the staff car and the two women Marines at Wesley’s funeral.

  At a viewer in a corner of the library, she typed in Wesley’s last known location. The same message flashed across the screen and she was denied a map of where the dirt road ended.

  ***

  Before dawn, Natalie sat up in bed. The nightmare still fresh in her mind, she grabbed a pad of paper and wrote Wesley Abel, G.C.M.C., where and why? While the idea of fun left her cold, the idea of a mission to uncover what happened to Wesley set her mind on fire.

  In the morning at breakfast she faced her Aunt.

  “I have enough credits to graduate,” she informed her mother’s sister. “I’m joining the Galactic Council Marine Corps.”

  “But you’re just seventeen. And dear, you’v
e been through a lot,” her Aunt explained. “Give it a few more months before you commit to something like the military. There is a war going on and it’s dangerous.”

  “Yes, I’m seventeen so I need your signature to join,” Natalie said forcefully. “It’s something I have thought about and I am going to be a Marine.”

  After a morning of back and forth arguments, Natalie and her Aunt climbed into the family car and drove to a recruiting station.

  Three days later in the dark of night, Natalie Harleen climbed on a bus with other recruits. Five hours later, the bus pulled through the gates of Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Planet Dos.

  “Get off my bus,” a Corporal screamed as he charged onto the bus. “Now, people. Get off my bus and put your feet on the yellow footprints.”

  While Natalie scrambled with the other recruits attempting to follow directions, high above the planet on Orbital station, Doctor Guga Melamina poked a syringe into Warlock’s IV tube.

  ***

  “Welcome back Master Sergeant Alberich,” Guga said as her patient’s eyes fluttered.

  “Cold,” choked out Diosa.

  “That will pass. You’ve been in a medical induced coma,” Guga informed her. “Now that the cells are growing and forming bone, we want you awake. And warm.”

  The last comment brought a smile to Warlock’s face.

  “When can I get out of here and back to my unit?” Diosa inquired through shivering teeth.

  “The leg will need another week of bed rest,” the Doctor explained. “After that you’ve got a few more weeks of physical therapy. But the shoulder, because of the complicated structure, we need to keep immobilized for a few weeks longer.”

  “What’s the bottom line, Doctor?” Warlock asked.

  “Twelve weeks and you’ll be fit for active duty,” Guga advised. “Are you ready for some hot food?”

  “Yes ma’am. Steak?” inquired Diosa.

  “Broth for starters,” Guga replied. “Let’s see how your body handles that first.”

  ***

  Nine weeks later, Private First-Class Natalie Harleen marched by the reviewing stand with her training Platoon. The next day, the new Marines climbed onto buses and left M.C.R.D. for another post to start the Ground Infantry Course. After five weeks of night maneuvers, escape and evasion training, squad tactics, and advanced hand to hand combat instructions, the successful graduates would move onto ten weeks of Space Combat Qualifications.

  Natalie had embraced basic training and scored expert with both the rifle and the pistol. As well, she earned the PFC rank upon graduation. But to her disappointment, no information about a secret installation or even a hint about one was disclosed.

  Then in the third week of the Ground Infantry Course, a Marine Sergeant marched to the front of the lecture hall.

  “Good morning, Marines,” he announced.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” responded the class.

  “I’m here today to let you know the Marine Corps is in combat with forces of the Empress’ Royal Constabulary.”

  Whispering from several rows of seats let Natalie know she wasn’t the only one who paid attention in history class. Although slim on details, she knew the Great Schism had killed millions and destroyed whole cities on planets Uno, Dos and Tres. The devastation didn’t end until the Royal Constabulary were forced to surrender. Then, the Empress and her supporters were crowded onto three huge colony ships and launched towards a distant Galaxy.

  “I’m not going to tell you the fight ahead is going to be easy,” the Sergeant continued. “But the Marine Corps has never backed down from a fight. Or, our duty to protect the Galactic Council Realm. We are studying this enemy in depth. His language, his dietary requirements, mannerisms, his will to fight and the Empress’ tactics.”

  A shiver shot up Natalie’s spine. There was only one way to examine language, dietary requirements, mannerisms, and the will to fight. You needed to have prisoners. But there had been no mention of POWs on any news feeds.

  “I’m here to make you aware of our enemy. They are large men, muscular and committed,” the Sergeant lectured. “When you encounter them don’t be intimidated. They bleed and they die. Their officers are average size but fanatical. They’ll sacrifice their troops to gain an objective. Fortunately for the Constabulary officers, Marines are very good at helping them sacrifice their troops.”

  Laughter rippled through the class.

  “Finish your training and pass Space Combat Qualifications,” the Sergeant stated ending his lecture. “And I’ll see you in the fleet, Marines.”

  As the class filed out, Natalie marched to the front of the room.

  “Sergeant. If we have prisoners why doesn’t the public know?” she inquired.

  “If the Marine Corps had Constabulary prisoners, it would be a secret,” the NCO replied. “And the compound would be a secret. There are too many Empress sympathizers who would like nothing better than to eliminate them. That’s if, we have prisoners.”

  “I understand. Thank you, Sergeant,” Natalie said.

  Outside, she took her place in the ranks. The training platoon stepped off towards the ground assault firing range. While her feet marched in time, Natalie’s mind sorted through the Constabulary prisoners, a hidden compound, Wesley’s death and a burning desire to lash out. Then, the ideas solidified into a plan.

  ***

  The squad advanced on line with each Marine isolated in their designated lane. Targets popped up and the riflemen fired thee round bursts. On the second set of targets, a Marine raised her hand.

  “Jam,” Natalie called out.

  “On the firing line, hold your positions,” the range officer ordered. “Clear the jam.”

  Natalie pulled the bolt on the gas-powered rifle, ejected a round, pulled her magazine and thumbed out two more. She slipped the three bullets into a pocket, stood up and waved.

  “Cleared,” she said.

  “It’s the old ammo. Some of the training rounds are over fifty years old,” the range officer said to a Sergeant. Then, he announced, “Clear. Commence firing on the range.”

  For the next few targets, Natalie fired only two rounds at each popup form. Because her pattern groups were so tight, the electronic scorer assumed the third bullet passed through an existing hole. It would take another week for Natalie to scrounge away eighteen bullets.

  ***

  The Marine Corps taught Natalie escape and evasion. It didn’t take much for the intelligent young Marine to reverse the lessons and formulate an attack strategy. On a dark night while the wind stilled roared, she left her barracks.

  At the last housing unit, she strolled behind the building and gazed across an open field. Lights blazed on the front of a bunker highlighting the high wire fence and the driveway at the entrance. As the instructors had said, sometimes you can hide in plain sight if you appear to belong. Figuring it was good for this phase, she left the shelter of the barracks and started across the grassy field.

  Halfway across, Natalie angled for the back of the bunker. Once close to the dark concrete structure, she sprinted to the rear fence. There she pulled a length of rope from her backpack, slung the hook to the top of the fence and climbed it. After dropping the rope down the backside of the fence, she used it to reach the ground.

  The lights at the front illuminated the iron door of the bunker. Natalie watched the street at the end of the drive until the nightly patrol drove by. Then, she came around the side, punched in the keycode and slipped through the doorway.

  Because she had volunteered for explosive handling details, she not only had an NCO’s code, she also knew the layout of the interior. Without the need for lights, Natalie located two open boxes. At one she plucked two white phosphorus grenades, from the other she grabbed two fragmentation grenades. She was out the door, over the fence and back at her barracks before the patrol drove by again.

  ***

  “Only ninety-six hours?” inquired the Master Sergeant. “You qualify
for two weeks leave.”

  “I just want to see my brother. Make sure he’s alright and visit my mother’s grave,” Natalie explained. “Any longer and I’ll have time to linger on the memories. I’m better off here staying busy.”

  “Your leave is approved,” the senior NCO responded.

  At eleven-thirty, Natalie broke down her rifle, wrapped the parts in a blanket and stuffed them into a duffle bag. The grenades and full magazine, she rolled up in towels and shoved them around the blanket. Her green utilities, combat boots, an a boonie cap went on top of those. Before she closed the bag, she placed a final layer of civilian clothing.

  With the bag suspended over her shoulder, Natalie walked out of the barracks and headed for the end of the street. A crowd of excited Marines stood at the bus stop.

  “Here it comes,” one shouted. “The freedom bus.”

  “And just in time,” another added. “In two more minutes, I will be a civilian for two weeks.”

  “Sleep late, drink and eat whatever I want,” a third Marine chimed in. “I’m going to forget everything about the green machine for two weeks.”

  But Natalie didn’t want to forget about the Marine Corps. As she boarded the bus, her mind ran through the classes and the lessons. If she was going to be successful, she’d need all the skills to carry out the plan and to survive.

  Chapter - 3 The Search and Destroy Mission

  Natalie took a cab from the bus station to her Aunt and Uncle’s house. Arriving at six in the morning, she knocked on the front door. Amid hugs and questions, she was guided to the kitchen and joined the family for breakfast.

  “I know this is strange,” Natalie explained after an hour, six pancakes, four fried eggs, and five sausage links. “But I’d like to use your pickup truck and dirt bike for a couple of days.”