Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1)

by C. J. Fawcett

  The leader nodded grimly, shoving his trembling comrade towards him. “What is your name again?”

  The man gave a small smile, just a twitch of his lips. “I am Yin, that is Yang,” he said, indicating his companion who was wiping the rounded tines of his sai on the spongy earth.

  Roo snorted and Booker elbowed him in the ribs.

  “A Nigerian prince and now this,” the Australian muttered. Charles dug his fingers into his teammate’s shoulder.

  “All right, Yin,” Yander said, pointedly ignoring Roo, “I thank you for helping Desmond.”

  The others watched as Yin applied a foul-smelling poultice to Desmond’s stripped flesh and bound it tightly with a long bandage. He created a make-shift sling from one of the man’s shirts.

  “We will need to enter the glade tomorrow. We’ll make camp a little farther into the trees,” Yander said when Yin was done.

  They quietly set up camp. A large bonfire was built in the center and the men gathered in a semi-circle around it.

  Their leader surveyed the camp. The night had closed in, and the Zoo was alive with strange sounds. The glowing carnivorous plants remained as a faint reminder of what lay directly at their backs, and the unknown stretched in impenetrable darkness around them.

  He pointed at Charles. “You,” he said, and the American supplied his name. “Charles, you and Yang will take first watch.”

  Yang nodded at Charles, who returned the gesture.

  “You.” Yander pointed at one of the Europeans whose dark hair was cropped close to his scalp.

  “Vlad,” he said.

  He nodded and pointed to his uninjured comrade. “Vlad and Cyrus will have second watch.”

  The third watch was assigned to Prince and the European whose hair was tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, Michel. Fourth watch went to Yander and Booker, and last watch to Roo and the final European, Florin. Yin was assigned to watch over Desmond.

  The night had passed without incident when Booker and Yander had the watch. The darkness hummed menacingly around them but nothing breached the circle of the bonfire the men had built. The cold was seeping into the Brit’s bones as he sat with his back to the fire, watching past the darkness. The other man sat opposite, rubbing one of his talismans.

  “What brought you to the Zoo?” he asked.

  Booker sniffed and ran a finger under his nose. “Money, curiosity, maybe stupidity? Take your pick.”

  The man nodded. “It’s the same for all of us.”

  “You run many missions?” he asked.

  “After a fashion. We have worked hard to get into this position. We’re the main supplier of data collection for an American company. They pay well but sometimes have unrealistic timeline expectations. But then, what company doesn’t when their people aren’t the ones going into the Zoo?”

  Booker nodded, noting that Yander did not name the company he worked for. He thought that was smart because if he had known, he would’ve tried to poach the job from him.

  “You pick the team?”

  Yander gave a shrug that Booker saw in the wavering shadow cast by the fire. “In a way, yes. I seek some men out, others are brought to me and recommended by Prince and those like him.”

  He nodded. They lapsed into silence. Booker watched the distant throb of the bioluminescent carnivorous plants, the hair on the back of his neck rising. It reminded him of deep-sea creatures who lit their way along the cold darkness of the ocean floor. He had always hated fish and the unnatural light some gave off, even if it was only a natural compound called luciferin. That almost made it worse. Things not connected to a power cell or electricity shouldn’t glow.

  “You and your friends are ex-military, Prince says,” Yander stated.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you have some complaints about my running of things. I know the team is not as cohesive as it could be, but the turnover rate is too high.”

  “You don’t necessarily need time to create a cohesive unit. You just need the proper commands and communication.”

  The man grunted and then let the quiet envelope them again.

  Booker couldn’t help but think about the strange components that made up the team. He hadn’t been able to see all of the men fighting, but aside from Desmond, they had all emerged relatively unscathed. He sensed the potential and wondered what kind of team they’d be with the right commander.

  The glade looked innocuous. Deep green ferns sprouted from the vibrant, spongy moss. It was a small area, no more than an acre. The varying shades of green were broken up here and there by neon-blue bell-shaped flowers.

  Yander handed out what looked to be clear synthetic containers for specimen collection. “We need a piece of every different type of plant in this glade. Or as close to that as we can get. Even if it looks normal to you, grab a piece of it.”

  The men spread out and combed through the clearing, calling out what they were collecting so time and space wouldn’t be wasted. It took almost two hours of boring and tedious work. Roo’s grumbling about not being a scientist grew louder till Booker shut him up with a well-aimed punch to the gut.

  Yander produced two cases, much like the ones in the half-track Booker, Roo, and Charles had returned. The containers fitted in perfect rows, a spongy black foam spacing them so they wouldn’t crack against one another on the return journey.

  “We’ll cut through the bastard glade again. We’ve got the cargo now, though, so we need two men to carry the cases while the rest of us surround them to keep the cargo safe,” Yander said when the collection containers were secured in the cases. He assigned Florin and Prince to carry them.

  “This time around, we’ll try a different approach,” he said. “Speed is of the essence to get the specimens back in a non-degraded state. So, some of you will have torches and others will be firing to keep the plants back. If all goes as planned, we should be able to cut a path through them with relative ease.”

  “When’s the last time a military op ever went according to plan?” Roo muttered under his breath.

  Yander showed the men how to create torches from long branches and clumps of moss that hung from some of the trees. It smoldered and smoked more than anything, but the Angolan seemed confident that it would work for their purposes. He assigned positions to everyone before they entered the glade. He would lead with Cyrus and Yang. Yin, Vlad, Michel, and Desmond would surround Prince and Florin, and Booker, Charles, and Roo would take up the rear. The men fell loosely into line. Then, with his FPB at the ready, the leader launched forward into the meadow.

  The smoldering torches did help to keep the plants back, but they still tried to snap, their mouths open wide, other buds whipping forward in an attempt to ensnare the men as they muscled through. The glade was alive with the groaning of the earth and the strange wet sound of the plants moving, but over it all was the rapid firing of the men’s semi-automatic weapons.

  Michel had a close call, a root tripping him up, but Roo lunged forward with his knife in time to sever the bud before it could latch onto him. The man scrambled to his feet with a grim nod of thanks.

  They made good time with the aggressive approach as opposed to the quiet creeping they had tried before, managing to wrestle their way through the meadow in half the time it took on the inward journey. Booker watched the way the line shifted, expanding and contracting. He saw the different weaknesses and strengths of the men ahead of him, and he wanted to give commands to have the line tighten to smooth the progress of their movements. But he held his tongue.

  After the meadow, it was smooth going, much like their approach to the glade. The full cases were transferred periodically from one man to another as they jogged back toward the gate and safety.

  The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when they made it out of the Zoo. Yander immediately had the cases loaded in the back of a truck, and Desmond and Cyrus drove it away. He handed the men their pay.

  The second the bills were in Roo, Booker, an
d Charles’ hands, Prince materialized at their side, a big smile on his face.

  “Well, that went well,” he said. His guards were back, silently shadowing him. “Now it’s time to pay up, boys.”

  They reluctantly handed over the thirty percent of their pay he required. He counted it, then smiled broadly again. “I’ll be in touch,” he said and walked away.

  “Shall we go get better weapons?” Booker asked, counting the remaining cash.

  “Now we’re talking,” Roo said, waving his AK. “I’m about done with this piece of bloody shit.”

  Dan stood behind the table in the armory, his leg looking better than it had when they first met him.

  “What can I get for you boys?” he asked.

  They purchased more ammunition, another Remington for Charles, and an MP5 for Booker. Roo looked longingly at a brand-new Heckler and Koch 416, but even he knew it was too expensive for the team, so he selected a serviceable Czech-made vz.58 V, the parachute configuration for the Russian AKM to go along with the mammoth SW .500. He practically frothed at the mouth when the supplier paraded weapons in front of them, trying to entice them into buying more, but Booker held fast.

  “We have to be smart about this,” he said. “Maybe next time we’ll get more.”

  The Aussie looked like he was going to argue, but Charles put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s lock this up and go get a beer.”

  Chapter Six

  The Bar: The Harvesters Camp

  One beer multiplied to three or four as the men settled at a table in the corner. Booker and Roo seemed to be engaging in a silent drinking game, each trying to drink the other under the table. Charles merely watched his friends, his eyes alert and scanning the rest of the bar as he slowly drank his beer.

  “I think we need more gear,” Roo said.

  Booker shook his head. “We need funds more than we need gear. So far, everything has been relatively easy, and if our missions continue to be like that last harvesting mission, we won’t be needing more gear anytime soon.”

  “Bullshit,” the Australian said. “After this, the missions will roll in. We’ll be loaded in no time, so what’s the harm in buying more gear now?”

  “It’s not economically responsible.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You fuckin’ Brits—pussies, the lot of you.”

  “I’m Cornish.”

  “Same difference.”

  The Brit glared at him.

  “If you won’t let us buy more gear, we should at least get better lodging,” Roo said.

  “No. I don’t think one payout from a mission warrants us moving up any more.”

  “You’re killing me, mate. Why the hell not?”

  “Money,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  The other man looked at Charles for help, but he merely shrugged.

  “All right, fine. We’ll do this your way, but not for much longer.

  Booker smiled and ordered another round of beers.

  “Hey,” Charles said, “do you think Prince is a prince or is that his name?”

  Roo shrugged. “How the fuck should I know?”

  “It is hard to tell,” the Brit conceded.

  Charles grunted and went back to drinking his beer.

  “Military men are the ones cut out for work like this,” the Aussie said and drained another glass, his fourth.

  “Agreed.”

  “I know some blokes who’d be good at this,” the other man continued.

  “I do as well.” Booker had a gleam in his eye. “None of them emmets. We could start our own company with well-trained vets. If we did this right, with the right training and planning, we could monopolize some of these missions. I think we could be big.”

  “We could start our own armory,” the Aussie suggested.

  “Have our own gates,” the other man added.

  Another round of beers was ordered for the table, although Charles switched to water.

  “I ran logistics in the SAS. We could execute missions from a central base,” Booker continued.

  “Desk jobs aren’t my shit. I’d want to be in the trenches, leading,” Roo said.

  They kept talking, the plans expanding to full outfits and a hold on supplies of both the food and weapon variety. Charles watched the plans spinning out of control and into the atmosphere as his two companions relaxed into their drinks.

  Prince breezed into the bar, looked around, and strode toward them.

  “I have another mission,” he said and his gaze lingered on the empty glasses. “If you’re sober enough.”

  “When’s the mission?” Charles asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Charles glanced at his teammates, who had their heads together, arguing over the logistics of running the fictional company they had created.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s another of the grazing sort. A spec mission, so to speak. Another new site. This one has a lot of buzz around it and the payout should be significant.”

  “We’ll be there,” he said.

  “Of course,” the man said, inspecting his manicured fingernails, “I’ll still take my thirty percent.”

  “Right. I’m sure you will.”

  “Be there tomorrow. Same gate, zero five thirty.” The Nigerian nodded and strolled out of the bar.

  Roo noticed the man as he walked away and made rude gestures at his back. Charles stilled his movements quickly and not a moment too soon. Prince looked back at them before he exited.

  “That Nigerian can suck my bollocks,” the Aussie grumbled. He reached for his half-finished beer, but Charles intercepted him.

  “We have a mission in the morning. Bar’s closed, boys,” he said. “Time to sober up.” He moved Booker’s beer away from him as well and ordered a pot of coffee.

  “Drink this, then we’re hitting the hay. Early call tomorrow,” he commanded. Booker and Roo didn’t fight him on it.

  Chapter Seven

  Gate 03FLC, 0530

  Charles stretched his cold muscles and looked at the men who stood waiting at the gate. The team was the same as before, minus the three eastern Europeans. Even Desmond was there, his arm still bandaged but no longer in a sling, and seemed determined despite his injury. The American didn’t think it was smart but kept it to himself.

  The three groups stood apart, not acknowledging the others.

  Prince seemed to hum with more energy than he normally gave off. He strolled to each of the groups, speaking in a low voice, all smiles.

  “Good to have you here,” he said, shaking each of their hands. “Ready for a big payday?”

  Charles and Booker offered pleasantries but Roo merely grunted.

  “Where are the Europeans?” the Brit asked.

  Prince shrugged. “Not invited. Aren’t you glad I like you three? More money for us this way.”

  He moved away from them toward the center of the groups. He clapped his hands and the men turned their attention to him.

  “All right, gents. Let’s get the ball rolling. We’ll be in and out fast. There’s another new glade we’re gathering intel about. So, if we’re ready, everyone can follow me.”

  “Doesn’t anyone here believe in a Five Paragraph Order?” Charles asked Booker. “This is all seat-of-your-pants.”

  The other man simply shrugged, then followed Prince to the gate.

  The heat of the Libyan desert was dry, the kind that sucked the moisture out of their mouths, but once through the gate and into the Zoo, the humidity hit them hard, even in the early dawn hour, and each man began to sweat. The strenuous pace the Nigerian set only added to the discomfort.

  Charles noted that dawn seemed to be a time of relative peace in the jungle. The creatures inside transitioned from night to day, the nocturnal turning in and the diurnal creatures not yet awake. The heat and lush greenery reminded him a little of the American south.

  The later start meant they weren’t unbothered for long. A lumbering bear-like creature stumbled into th
eir path. Its over-long snout snuffled at the humans. It opened its mouth and made a sound like a crying child, which was unnerving to hear. The bear seemed more annoyed at being interrupted rather than angry, but it still launched into an attack. The team split into their relative groups.

  Yin and Yang flanked the creature as it rose on its hind legs, swiping at the men with razor-sharp claws. The Angolans grouped together, raising their weapons and firing. Booker, Roo, and Charles prepared to take the animal’s other side, all while Prince watched. The creature hesitated as it unsure who to attack first, turning from one group to the other, and that hesitation was its doom. The combined fire was enough to take it down. With an agonized roar, it collapsed. Still, it tried to drag itself forward, jaws snapping, until Yander stepped up and put a round through its right eye.

  Their leader barely gave the creature a glance before urging them forward again, keeping the pace fast. Charles didn’t know how Prince was navigating, the pace was so quick, but he must have had some way because, after only a few hours of traveling, they arrived at the objective.

  It looked much the same as the previous glade they had collected specimens from. This one, however, lacked the ferns and seemed to be full of flowers instead.

  Prince pulled a scanpad from his rucksack. “Wait here a moment, gents,” he said, then waded into the glade.

  They watched him as he scanned the plants, methodically working his way across the open glade.

  “What exactly are we waiting for?” Yander asked.

  The Nigerian didn’t respond, straightening and clearly comparing some of the data he had on his scanpad with what he saw on the ground.

  “Why do you think he is running the show on this instead of Yander?” Booker muttered to Charles and Roo.

  “Don’t know, but no one seems happy about it. Take a load of them,” Roo said, indicating Yin and Yang. They stood watching him make his scans, their expressions hard their eyes flashing with barely contained disgust and malice when his back was turned.