Fortress Frontier

by Myke Cole

  Sharp shook his head in amazement but didn’t hesitate to drink the water out of his cupped hand. Dhatri and Vasuki-Kai watched with great interest, saying nothing.

  “Tastes weird,” Sharp said. “Like you boiled the hell out of it.”

  Bookbinder nodded. “It’s completely sterile. Naturally occurring water, even filtered stuff, has some contaminants in it. This is totally pure.”

  Sharp shrugged and drank the rest of the water as Bookbinder turned back to the team.

  “No campfire,” he ordered. “Let’s do MREs tonight and get some shut-eye. Up tomorrow as soon as the light allows. We’ll need to set a watch.” He lowered his pack to the ground, every muscle in his back and shoulders screaming at him. You can lead, but you can’t exceed your limitations. “And I can’t do the first shift, sorry.”

  Vasuki-Kai hissed something and Dhatri nodded, slinging his own pack to the ground and stretching gratefully. “His Highness says that watches will be unnecessary. You may all sleep, and he will keep an eye over the camp.”

  “Doesn’t he need to sleep?” Bookbinder asked.

  “He will sleep, sir. Naga do not close their eyes, even in sleeping. He will see an enemy coming while he rests.”

  Sharp cocked an eyebrow. “Can he see in the dark?”

  “Not exactly,” Dhatri replied. “He can see . . . he can see heat. Or he can taste it. It is very difficult to explain.” As if to underscore the point, several of Vasuki-Kai’s heads flicked out varicolored forked tongues, tasting the air before returning.

  “Sir,” Sharp said under his breath. “Are you sure you trust this . . . uh, guy?”

  Bookbinder paused a moment, considering the naga. The creature had been willing to reveal secrets precious to the Indian government to help him. “Yes, Sergeant. I do. Implicitly.”

  That was good enough for Sharp. He shrugged, and his men joined him in stripping out of their gear, wordlessly coordinating their efforts with looks and nods. Within moments, they were disassembling their already immaculate weapons for another cleaning. Woon knelt in the grass beside the shelter, practicing her Whispering on small beetles, whom Bookbinder hadn’t noticed because their gray shells were perfectly camouflaged to look like pebbles. Within minutes, she had orderly groups of them trooping up the side of the hut and back down again. Bookbinder smiled and gave her a thumbs–up as she glanced over. She returned the smile with a nod. “Crime pays, sir.”

  “No crime,” Bookbinder answered. “Exigent circumstances. Duly authorized by your CO. Carry on.”

  Woon did, and Bookbinder wandered off, stripping off the wrapping of his MRE, his legs restless despite the grinding fatigue he felt. Before long, he found himself sucking on a pretzel stick, standing beside Vasuki-Kai.

  The naga prince stood still as a statue, its tail coiled around Dhatri’s pack, heads fanned out in a near-perfect circle, illuminating the thickening darkness with its glowing eyes.

  Bookbinder stared at the naga. Was he asleep? How could you even tell? The huge chest rose and fell evenly, but there was no sound of breathing at all though little clouds of warmer air puffed in and out of dozens of pairs of nostrils.

  After a moment, one of the heads arced, turned sideways, and fixed him with a single yellow eye. It hissed briefly.

  Dhatri’s voice sounded from behind him. “His Highness asks why you are staring at him.”

  Bookbinder blinked. “Please apologize to His Highness. I was just trying to figure out if he was sleeping. With my people, you can always tell because our eyes are closed.”

  The snake’s head hissed again. “His Highness is sleeping,” Dhatri said. “But if you have any questions, he will permit you to ask them.”

  Bookbinder tried not to let his confusion show. He had many questions. For one thing, he hadn’t seen the naga eat. Wasn’t it hungry? “No, no questions. I’m sorry to have disturbed you . . . er . . . I’m sorry to have disturbed His Highness.”

  Bookbinder turned to go, but the single head hissed again.

  “His Highness asks why you chose to come on this mission.”

  Bookbinder turned back to the head, struggling to overcome his instinct to address Dhatri directly. “Excuse me?”

  “His Highness is merely returning home, and it is the custom of princes to be envoys. But he understands that among Americans, you send an . . . what is the word? An attaché. You are a commander. This is not your custom.”

  Bookbinder thought for a while before answering, “His Highness is right. But . . . I guess I’m not a very good commander. I figured I’d be better off doing this.”

  The snake’s head paused before hissing again, more urgently.

  “His Highness says he thinks you are an excellent commander. He says if you were a real . . . um . . . an Indian officer, you would be a brigadier, and he would request you lead our installation in the Naga Raajya.”

  Bookbinder was glad that the darkness concealed his flush.

  “His Highness is too kind.”

  “His Highness has never said a thing like that about an American before.”

  “I don’t know what to say. How did . . . you two get together?”

  Bookbinder asked, trying to overcome the awkward silence his discomfort with praise had caused. “Your races . . .”

  “The naga came to us,” Dhatri said. “They had already done some reconnaissance of the Home Plane, and when the Great Reawakening took hold, they sent a delegation, but to see about their ‘cousins’ . . .”

  “You mean snakes?”

  “Just so.” Dhatri nodded. “Of course, they were disappointed to see that they were still . . . animals. People, on the other hand, had come a long way since the last Reawakening. They had dealt with us before, but it was only now that we had evolved to the point where the Bandhav relationships could be implemented. We had certain modern technologies in which they were interested.”

  “Do any live with you in the Home Plane?”

  Dhatri shook his head. “They do not even visit. That is through stringent agreement between my government and the Naga Raja.”

  “And Vasuki-Kai is your . . . Bandhav? How does that work?”

  “It is complicated,” Dhatri answered. “Naga princes will usually become fond of a human, we are somewhat like their children. They teach us their ways, and we teach them ours.”

  “It’s one to one?”

  “Yes, sir. One naga will take one human Bandhav for that human’s entire life, for naga always outlive people. When we die, they sometimes take another, sometimes not. I am very fortunate to be the first one chosen by His Highness. I have taught him Hindi and he has taught me to understand his speech, they have a special version they use for us. A human could never hope to understand how naga communicate with each other.”

  “Why’d he pick you? I mean . . . you’re a great guy and everything, I just . . .”

  Dhatri laughed. “It’s all right, sir. I am not offended. We don’t know why naga choose their Bandhavs. They say they know when they have met the one.”

  Bookbinder cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds very intimate.”

  “It is,” Dhatri answered seriously. “It is a love like family.”

  Vasuki-Kai hissed again and Dhatri translated “His Highness asks if you have eggs . . . He means children, sir. He is asking after your family.”

  “Two girls,” Bookbinder said. “And a wife. I miss them very much.”

  “His Highness says that family is the most important thing in life. He says very few of his people get to make families, but he has had that honor. He proudly tells you that he has had three successful clutches. This is very unusual among the naga. His Highness has ninety children.”

  Bookbinder tried to sound enthusiastic. “You must congratulate His Highness for me.”

  The single head nodded, pride evident in the regal movement.

  “His Highness asks if you have word from your family?”

  “No,” Bookbinder said. “Not since we got cut off. To be h
onest, very little before then either.”

  The head hissed empathically. “His Highness says that once we reach his kingdom, he will speak personally to the Raja on your behalf about putting you in contact with your family.”

  Bookbinder swallowed hard, grateful for the dark as a tear tracked its way down his cheek. “His Highness is enormously kind,” he husked. “But I’m sure he knows I must first see to the welfare of the my troops.”

  Dhatri nodded. “His Highness commends your concern for your people. He is certain the Raja will be moved by your compassion and assist. He is a merciful king.”

  Bookbinder looked up, meeting the snake’s eyes firmly. “I dearly hope so,” he said.

  “I dearly hope so.”

  The river was wider than Bookbinder had thought. He could make out the far bank, but only just, mostly by virtue of some kind of long-necked birds congregating on the far side. Tiny insects, their vibrating wings making a sound like tinkling glass, darted to and fro in the dying rushes along the bank.

  “Well, shit.” Bookbinder said, staring through a pair of field binoculars. “I don’t suppose we can go around it.”

  “Not without losing a whole lot of time,” Sharp said.

  “And I take it we can’t ford here,” Bookbinder said.

  Sharp arched his eyebrows and said nothing.

  “Well, shit,” Bookbinder repeated. “Can you bridge it?” he asked Woon.

  The major shrugged. “It’s a hell of a stretch, sir, but I can try.”

  “If you can, I’ll give you a . . .” Bookbinder paused. “Well, I don’t have anything to give you. I’ll pat you on the back.”

  “I’ll take it,” Woon said, making her way into the rushes.

  Bookbinder felt her tide gathering as she Drew, then focusing as she Bound the magic into the river mud. The river’s dark surface rippled and broke as a dripping mud bridge, wide enough to accommodate two people abreast, lifted through it, slowly making its way toward the far bank.

  “Outstanding,” Bookbinder said.

  “Not there yet, sir,” Woon grunted.

  The bridge continued to split the river, the current washing chunks of it away before Woon formed it into arches that allowed the water to wash beneath it. It marched forward, painfully slow, until it finally reached the other side. Woon tested the surface with her toe, and her boot sank into the soft mud, coming out dripping. “Save that pat, sir,” she said and redoubled her efforts.

  She grunted, and Bookbinder watched as the mud dried rapidly, the bridge hardening, solidifying from one end to the other.

  At last, Woon sat down, removing her helmet and mopping her brow. “Okay . . .” she gasped. “Pat . . . pat.”

  Bookbinder thumped her on the shoulder. “Outstanding, Major.”

  Woon waved at him and said nothing.

  Sharp nodded to Anan, who stepped onto the bridge, SAW at the low ready. It supported the big man’s weight with all his gear easily. He nodded back at Sharp and continued across.

  “All righty,” Bookbinder said. “Let’s get a move on.” He started forward.

  Sharp’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Let my boys get a look at the far bank first, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  Bookbinder stopped short, embarrassed. “Of course, Sergeant. Good idea.”

  Anan crossed the bridge slowly, raising the SAW and sighting down it as he walked. He swept the muzzle left and right, shoulders tense, as he approached the waving grass and moved several feet into it before taking a knee. After what felt like an eternity, he finally raised a hand and beckoned behind him.

  Fillion jogged out onto the bridge, his posture more relaxed with Anan covering the far end. Bookbinder felt some of the tension fall out of his own shoulders. If hard men like Sharp’s operators were calm, then so was he.

  There was a rumble, a huge sloshing sound, and a shadow fell across Fillion. It took Bookbinder a moment to realize that it had fallen across all of them, blanketing the bridge, the operators, both banks.

  Bookbinder looked up and blinked.

  An eighty-foot stretch of the river had stood, the water coursing down a concave back as wide as a mountain pass. A wedge-shaped head dripped rivulets of green water, coursing over scales in mottled shades of blue, green, and pale yellow. Eyes the size of truck tires slid toward them beneath nictitating membranes milky with algae.

  Fillion took one look and bolted for the far side of the bridge where Anan had spun, raising his SAW, not bothering to fire, understanding that 5. 56–millimeter ammunition would do little more than make a creature that big angry. Sharp raised his own weapon, then lowered it just as fast, turning toward Archer, who was already loading a round into the grenade launcher mounted to the underside of his carbine. Their movements were smooth, the only indication that they hadn’t dealt with creatures like this a hundred times a slight tenseness in their jaws.

  The monster lunged forward, moving almost leisurely, the underside of its steam-shovel jaw driving through the bridge just behind Fillion’s boot, knocking all of Woon’s work into clods of mud as easily as a house of cards.

  Anan grabbed Fillion by the handle on his body armor and dragged him back from the bank, keeping the SAW leveled at the monster with one hand. Bookbinder didn’t think it would take a lot of aiming to hit the thing, for all the good it would do. He spun toward Dhatri and froze. Both the subedar major and his Bandhav were prostrate on the riverbank. Dhatri looked ridiculous, thumping his forehead against the ground, but it was nothing compared to Vasuki-Kai, hissing madly, his heads spread out like a fan, slithering in the mud, as low as possible.

  Bookbinder was about to ask what the hell they were doing when a roar turned him away from the kowtowing and back to the monster, which had backed away from the wreckage of the bridge. Its huge bulk rose, six crocodilian legs flailing in the air.

  Dhatri and Vasuki-Kai bowed and scraped, Sharp and his men backed away slowly, weapons raised.

  Woon! Where the hell is Woon?

  Bookbinder felt panic race across his gut as the giant thing came back down. He felt the instinct to cringe and raise his arms to protect himself but overrode the habit with a will. Like it or not, he was the leader of this little expedition. If Sharp and his men could be cool under fire, then so could he.

  The giant creature twisted in midair, its huge torso wheeling away from the shattered bridge and slamming back into the river, its huge tail whipping over the far bank. Anan and Fillion cried out and disappeared as it covered them. The monster grunted, the sound of air brakes on a bus, and began to reluctantly slosh downriver, each step strained, as if unsure of the direction it wanted to go, slowly lowering itself into the water as it went.

  Vasuki-Kai and Dhatri continued their prostrations without looking up.

  “Woon! Major Woon!” Bookbinder shouted frantically, racing toward the bank.

  “I’m okay, sir.” Woon sloshed her way up the bank, soaked to the waist. “I’m more worried about them.” She gestured to the far bank.

  “I think they’re okay, sir,” Sharp said, sighting through his carbine’s scope. Bookbinder could see vague dark forms in the grass, moving. “Yeah, they’re okay.” Sharp said.

  “That was the Makara,” Dhatri said as he approached with Vasuki-Kai in tow, hissing. “The goddess of the river. We are fortunate to have escaped with our lives.”

  Bookbinder frowned. “That thing was female?”

  Dhatri ignored the question as he translated for his Bandhav.

  “His Highness says you are very fortunate to have us along with you because we knew to behave with proper reverence and supplication. Only by observing the proper custom was disaster turned aside.”

  “Thank His Highness for me,” Bookbinder said. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  He moved into the longer grass down by the river’s edge, where Woon was vainly trying to dry herself, shivering in the cold. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine so long as I don’t freeze to de
ath, sir.”

  “Well, get into some dry clothes. I promise not to look while you get changed.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to where Dhatri and Vasuki-Kai chatted animatedly. “You Whispered that thing away, didn’t you?”

  Woon nodded, smiling. “Never thought it’d come in handy before today, sir.”

  “Do me a favor, don’t go mentioning that to our foreign partners, okay?”

  Woon’s smile faded. “Okay, sir.”

  Bookbinder tapped his temple. “Diplomacy.”

  “Stuff of kings, sir. What now?”

  “Now you dry off. Then you make us another bridge.”

  They were clear of the woods beyond the river in a few hours.

  Bookbinder felt relief as they pushed out of the shadows and strange sounds. The Source was an unmapped, alien landscape.

  Could a brush against a flower petal give him a sickness that would kill him overnight? Was there some beast crouching in the branches overhead, waiting to spring on them? The FOB, for all its austerity, suddenly felt like the height of civilization.

  The landscape beyond the woods returned to the endless sea of waving saw-toothed grass. A horned serpent’s head rose above the grass, regarding them silently as they trekked past, joined a moment later by a second. Sharp sighted down his carbine at it, but Vasuki-Kai slapped the barrel down with an angry hiss. Sharp nodded, not needing Dhatri to translate the naga’s affinity for snakes of any kind.

  After a full day’s march, Bookbinder became convinced that he smelled smoke. The odor strengthened as they marched over the next day, and he noted Vasuki-Kai’s many tongues unfurling to taste the air with greater and greater frequency. The naga began to look agitated and conversed with Dhatri in hushed tones.

  “Smell that?” Bookbinder asked Sharp.

  “Yes, sir. Forest fire. Maybe a grass fire. But I don’t feel any heat. Must not be close enough yet.”

  “No,” Bookbinder said. “This smells like . . . other stuff burning. Maybe rubber? Metal?”

  Sharp’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re right.” He made a wide circle, sighting through his carbine’s scope. “Nothing.”