Nomad Omnibus 03: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus)

by Craig Martelle

  William was almost at the age to make his own way in life. His parents and grandparents weren’t pushing him in one way or another. He would realize later how much he appreciated that. Now? Not so much. William remained a bit surly. He worked at a shop in the market district. They carried the kind of clothes that didn’t appeal to the FDG, so he was exposed to an entirely different crowd, one that didn’t respect the military and thought they served no purpose.

  “What’s the shop look like today?” Terry asked.

  “Same old,” William replied. “Normal people have a normal work day today, so we’ll get busy around lunch and right after work. I’ll be home around eight, as usual. I’m going surfing this weekend with Rocky and his group.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer or wish them luck in their games. He turned at the end of the road to go to the bus stop. The rest headed toward the practice fields where the entire Force would be gathered.

  “He’ll come around,” Mary Ellen said as she looked over her shoulder at her brother. He was looking back at them. She waved and he nodded. They were tight, as siblings were supposed to be.

  “I hope so,” Marcie replied, looking at the ground. “Something is missing from his life, and I don’t know what it is. I’m supposed to know. I’m his mother.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  San Francisco

  “When is that ship supposed to get there?” Sue asked again.

  Her fellow council member shrugged. “I would have thought it would be there by now. We’re waiting on the radio signal.”

  Timmons leaned against the wall. The ambitious project being undertaken by a Japanese consortium was to reopen the Panama Canal. They’d sent a survey vessel and a sea tug towing a dredge. With Terry and Char’s report regarding the thriving community of Kingston and the growing facilities in Cancun, they wanted to be first to tap into the market.

  The consortium also saw the opportunity in owning the trade route. They decided to invest the resources.

  “They don’t report to us. We’ll probably find out something after they’ve been there for a month and can refine the estimate of when the canal can be ready for transit,” Timmons replied, rubbing his hands together. “That’ll be a big day.”

  “Until then, bridge repairs. We need to get those going…” Sue managed the meeting, keeping the city’s business running at a torrid pace. She’d been elected and then made mayor, although her status had been reduced to a equal co-member with all the other elected officials. Half of the former members had been replaced.

  The new members were still learning the ropes. They’d be professionals when they next election cycle hit. Teaching the new people about their responsibilities kept the group energized and looking out for the people. It was the old hands that she had to watch out for and deal with behind closed doors.

  Sue and Timmons both hated professional politicians. Some might say that they’d become what they loathed, but they hadn’t. With Terry and Char nearby, they never lost sight of their duty to the people, to the greater good.

  No one wanted to be on the wrong end of that beating.

  ***

  The Force stood tall, some five hundred members strong. Terry stood on a podium and looked out over the formation. He felt the pride of having built such an organization where people volunteered to serve.

  “Esteemed members of the Force de Guerre, welcome!” he bellowed, breathing deeply and projecting to be heard in all corners of the parade deck. “Our first full Force wargame will pit your skill, your physical ability, and your mental acumen against those of your fellows in a contest where the winners won’t be getting a trophy. The top three platoons will deploy on duty. They will leave on a year-long effort to form garrisons in Los Angeles, Vancouver, and Portland. These city-states need us to watch over them. Your platoon commanders will be the ambassadors of the Force de Guerre. They will carry the flag, make the pitch, and then do what needs to be done to secure those communities from outside threats.”

  Terry waited to let that settle in. He wanted the people to know that the winners would be leaving. Terry had decided it was time for the Force to learn what being on duty was all about. Some of the local warriors had served for nearly fifteen years and never gone anywhere. They went home every night. The Force had become a job to them.

  Terry was afraid that they’d become garrison warriors. They looked great on base, but couldn’t function when deployed. In his mind, he had to put that concern to rest. He developed what he called the hunger games, not modeled on the books from long ago, but that the hungriest warriors would earn the title, go forward, and then return with the stories.

  He designed it to establish esprit de corps for the FDG. He couldn’t have us versus them. There was only one us.

  “The Force is a combat unit formed to protect the people so they can go about their business. Interlopers, highwaymen, armies, and anyone who oppress the citizens of this world will find themselves on the wrong end of you. Before your skill and power, they will wither, and the people will remain free. That is our mission. It has stayed true for nearly fifty years and will continue to thrive for fifty more. We will fight the enemies of humanity to our last breath!”

  The Force cheered, but it wasn’t as robust as Terry had hoped. Char raised one eyebrow as she looked at her husband.

  When the cheering died down, Terry continued. “We have five stations set up on base. Three platoons will go to each. You will rotate from one station to the next. You will have one hour to complete the tasks at each station. You will be timed. Some of your tasks will challenge you to do more. Some will challenge you to do it faster. Some will challenge you to find a solution. None of it will be easy. By the end of the day, you will be exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally. Platoon commanders, with your platoons, report to your first station!”

  The leadership barked orders and the platoons marched smartly away.

  Terry had separated his children and their spouses to keep them from seeing each other in action. He didn’t want them doing anything rash.

  After moving to San Fran, he reintegrated them into the regular ranks, but in the back of his mind, he knew that the tac team was the way to go—small, mobile units that could survive on their own before attacking with surgical precision and the power of a Greek god.

  The tac team. Terry decided to use the games as a recruiting ground to find the very best of them all. They’d remain with their platoons, but he’d give them a side gig. When a scalpel was needed, he wanted his go-to team. With Char’s pack mostly unavailable, he had to get help where he could find it.

  When twelve of the fifteen platoons marched off, the lieutenant in charge of the physical strength contest rallied the final three platoons to tell them the rules of their engagement.

  As Terry watched, he felt something at his side. In their all-black leather with wide-brimmed hats, Andrew and Joseph stood, casually observing all that was happening.

  “Hey! I don’t see you guys much. Where’ve you been?”

  “Crabbing.” Joseph replied, facing TH. He turned back to see what the platoons were going to be challenged with.

  “Is that it? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “At night. We’re running a crabbing business. You didn’t expect us to count on your largesse for money, did you?” Joseph said with a grin.

  “You two are running a business,” Terry said in disbelief.

  “My good man. I was running companies for hundreds of years before you were born. Just because you reduced my role to physical labor doesn’t mean that I’m not a businessman at heart.”

  “You two are crabbers?” Terry was trying to get his head wrapped around their private endeavor. He wasn’t the final arbiter of what they did. They were free to choose just like any other person. But they were Forsaken and as such, there was a special bond between them and Terry.

  “Seems like night is the best time for it and you know, we’re at our best in the dark,” Andr
ew supplied. “It’s actually quite lucrative. We have employees, too. Seven for now, but think that will become twenty fairly soon.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Terry couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You didn’t know?” Char interjected. He smirked at her. “Oh, sorry. They told me. I guess I forgot.”

  “Terry Henry Walton! I’m appalled. You didn’t miss us until you saw us. I thought we were tight, man. That cuts me deep,” Joseph intoned, holding his hand over his heart and sighing heavily.

  “We wanted to stop by to say ‘hi’ before heading to the marina. We’re in the middle of some major repairs to the boat,” Andrew added.

  “You have a boat?” Terry’s eyes shot wide.

  “William and Mary Ellen have been a great help. They prep us before we head out each night.” Joseph continued to have fun at Terry’s expense.

  “My grandkids work for you?”

  “We pay top dollar!” Andrew exclaimed.

  Terry closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples.

  Char leaned around him to speak with the two Forsaken. “Poor baby’s had quite a shock. He probably needs to lay down for a little bit, so if you’ll excuse us.”

  Andrew and Joseph shook each other’s hands, as they walked away declaring victory at surprising TH.

  Char guided Terry toward the three platoons as they pounded out pushups, counting as they went, while gamemasters ensured the pushups were good enough to count. Each platoon would get a total number of pushups divided by the total number in the platoon.

  As people stopped doing pushups, they were made to stand and their last number was recorded. Some ended quickly, but others were like machines—up, down, up, down.

  “How did I not know?” Terry asked Char as he stopped watching the competition.

  “You are busy with a great deal. You’ve made it your personal mission to know all five hundred of the warriors, while at the same time, not letting any of them get too close. And it’s okay, TH, but it’s not okay. This may sound harsh…” She looked around to make sure no one was nearby. “Invest your time in those who will be here in fifty years. Your family and your friends. We’ll go crabbing with those two. That sounds ridiculously fun. Boiled crab with melted butter? Yum!”

  Terry hung his head and pulled Char to him. “What would I do without you?” he whispered into her silver streak of hair.

  “Be miserable, that’s what,” Char replied playfully. “You remember what it was like a long time ago. When you were junior, how often did you see the colonel or the general?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Be that person. It makes it more important to them when they see you, if they never see you. Be that kind of leader, not absent but not readily available. Your lieutenants can keep you up to speed so you can thank the people who need to be thanked, when it needs to happen. Give them the authority and responsibility for everything else. You know what to do, lover, as soon as you can relieve yourself of the need to know them all.”

  “If I send them to their deaths, I want to at least remember their faces.” He leaned back to look at Char’s face.

  And into her magnificent, sparkling purple eyes.

  “Maybe you don’t get that luxury, which is your self-made hell. You take personal responsibility for every casualty. Well, shit happens. All you can do is set the standards and help them train to that level. As green as all these people are, if we go to war, some of them are going to die and there won’t be one goddamned thing you can do about it.”

  Char punched him in the chest, lightly.

  TH smiled at his wife. “I remember when you blasted me a good one there outside New Boulder. You were hitting on me.”

  “I have to say you took your beating well and came back for more. Who was I to deny someone with such perseverance and dare I say, stamina?”

  “You dare, my love. You dare, indeed.”

  With a passionate kiss, Terry smiled and started running toward the platoons. A few warriors continued to pound out the pushups. “OOH-FUCKING-RAH!” he screamed, waving at everyone to fire up and cheer on their fellows, show how their support could make their teammates better.

  ***

  Kimber looked at the first of three obstacles. Each was shielded from the others so the platoons couldn’t see how the others were attacking their challenge. They had nineteen minutes to solve the problem and one minute to get to the next obstacle.

  The first one was simple. There were two barrels and two lengths of rope. Everyone needed to get from one side of the small pool to the other without swimming. Kimber looked at the barrels.

  “Two by two!” she yelled. The first two hard chargers stepped up. “One pulls the other. The rope looks long enough to cross the barrier. Then everyone else gets pulled across. Easy peasy!”

  The first man balanced on the barrel and using his rifle as a paddle, headed into the pool. One rope was coiled across his back while the other was tied to his waist. The second man eased into the water, fighting with the barrel to keep from going in.

  The first barrel started to roll and there was nothing the warrior could do to stop it. He went face first into the drink. The gamemaster pulled him out and made him stand to the side. He was allowed to push the barrel back toward the others as well as throw them the rope.

  The second man quickly followed the first into the water.

  “Oh for two. Ideas, people!” Kim stood with her hands on her hips, unable to see a solution.

  “An outrigger, ma’am,” one warrior offered.

  “Explain.”

  “Tie the barrels together and lay between them. We stretch the other rope underneath where the barrel is tied. One or two go across and then lift the long rope and the barrels will slide back.”

  “Demonstrate,” Kim ordered, slapping the man on the back. He must have grown up fishing, judging by the way he handled the rigging. He was soon paddling across the small pond.

  He quickly reached the other side. With a firm grip on the long rope, he lifted it up and the barrels started their journey back.

  “Hurry!” the team yelled as one by one, they crossed the obstacle. When time ran out, they had twenty-five of the thirty across. Kim clapped and then raised her hands in victory.

  They recovered the equipment and ran to the next obstacle. A thirty-foot climbing wall. They had no ropes or anything to help them negotiate the obstacle. The sawdust pit at the bottom didn’t seem welcoming should someone fall.

  “Human pyramid,” someone called and others cheered. Four stalwart warriors ran to the base of the tower.

  “Stop!” Kim said firmly. Her people seemed confused. She waved them away from the base of the tower.

  “The team is made of individuals. Here. Hold my boots.” She pulled her boots off and removed her socks. There were nooks and crannies, barely big enough for her lean digits, but she found purchase, and started to climb. She had climbed the wall many times before and knew that at the top, there should be a rope.

  Kim climbed confidently. She knew that she would recover if she fell. She couldn’t be certain of any of the others. The fall could be a back-breaker.

  But her enhanced abilities gave her the advantage. She almost felt guilty, but every platoon had smaller warriors who would be able to negotiate the obstacle.

  Kim put those thoughts out of her mind and continued to climb, taking a break five feet from the top. The boards at that point were firmly together. No finger holds remained.

  She brought her knees to her chest and dug her toes into the last gap between the boards. She reached a hand to the side, gripping the edge of the obstacle. She walked her fingers higher, straightening her body at a snail’s pace. She counted on a flat palm to hold herself steady until the top was within reach.

  She inched her free hand over the top and wrapped her fingers around the top board. She repositioned her other hand and once she had a grip with both hands, pulled herself up and over the top.

  As she’d guessed, the rope was coi
led there. She threw it down. “Get your asses up here!” she yelled.

  Only eight of them made it before time ran out. She’d been too slow.

  The last obstacle was across a pit. No one was to fall into the pit, which was considered to be instant death. There was a long arm contraption on the other side of the pit with a large container that slowly filled with water. The arm at the end of the container looked long enough to reach across, but it was filling too slowly. If they waited too long, none of them would get across. There was a vertical arrangement across the pit, fifteen feet high, made of thin beams and short ropes.

  The final gap seemed insurmountable. The task was to get everyone across.

  “If I can get across, then I can jump in the bucket which will send the arm down. Then everyone can cross.” The platoon agreed. Kimber looked at the mess above. “That’s bullshit to confuse us. Look here. I’ll run between these and jump across the pit. We’ll be over this thing in two minutes!”

  Kim backed up and started to sprint. At enhanced speed, she leapt. Halfway across the pit, she tangled into heavy gauge fishing line. She was held up for a second before falling into the pit.

  Her string of curses would have made her father proud.

  “You’re out. You can’t talk to your team. They are on their own.”

  Kimber glared at him as she climbed the small ladder at the end. The pit was only four-feet deep, more symbolic than treacherous.

  She was furious because she knew who designed that trap. The colonel himself had set it for Lieutenant Kimber, and she stepped into it without hesitation, leaving her team on their own.

  The platoon started to climb. Six of them fell into the pit, joining their platoon commander in her simulated death. Eight more were high in the air, working their way between the ropes and beams when the water filled the container enough to unbalance the arm, which dropped across the opening. As it dropped, the fishing line retracted, creating a bridge across the pit.