“You’re relieved, Captain. Report to the brig and put your dumb ass in there until this exercise is over. Then I’ll deal with you personally. Where’s your goddamned lieutenant?”
The two privates tried to make themselves small and unnoticed. If they could have evaporated, they would have.
The captain looked belligerent for a millisecond, until the cold glare of Terry’s blue eyes almost brought him to his knees. The legend himself stood there and the captain had failed him. He’d failed his colonel.
And Marcie had failed her father by promoting someone who held himself as more important than his people.
She grabbed the captain’s insignia, a metal insignia with two small suns pinned to the man’s pocket.
After the captain walked away to the accompaniment of a funeral dirge playing only in his mind, the two colonels shook their heads.
“I’m so sorry,” Marcie said.
Terry nodded. “That’s why we’re here. Inspect and uphold the standards of the Force. Honor, courage, commitment. You—” Terry pointed to the first man, whose pack was somewhere on the other side of the wall. “What do those words mean?”
The man stuttered and stammered. He couldn’t put intelligible words together. The second man stopped him. “They mean doing what’s right when you think no one is looking. They mean preparing for war, every day, no matter what else is going on. When that day comes, you strap on your pack and helmet, pick up your squeaky clean rifle, and you go. Do your duty because there are people counting on you, not just the ones here.”
“Do you believe that?” Terry asked softly.
“I do. I apologize for my friend here. He’s a good warrior,” the man took the opportunity to say.
“A man who stands in the line of fire to protect his friends. You, get the fuck out there and get your pack. Then get the hell back here before that tactical team catches you!”
The private hopped the low wall and ran toward the forest.
“You. You get a battlefield commission. You’ll take the captain’s place, temporarily. I hope you were paying attention, because you just got real busy.”
The warrior shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Listen up, Captain…” Terry craned his neck to see the name embroidered on the man’s uniform. “Captain Fox. No one’s really ready for increased responsibility. All we can do is take our best shot. You’ll do fine if you stay true to the principles on which the Force de Guerre is founded. They are your guiding light. If you ever have a question, think about what those three words mean—honor, courage, commitment.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said,
“And now if a private out here doesn’t know, it’s your fault. That’s how responsibility works. You are now responsible for it all. Explain it to the private when he gets back and then precede us down the line and explain it to them, too,” Terry instructed.
“Here.” Marcie handed him the captain’s rank. “Enjoy.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Char looked at the mob, just like everyone else was doing who were walking through the area. “Spread out. Don’t look so obvious.” She rolled her eyes as they looked in different directions, but no one left the group.
Char took matters into her own hands. “You three, that way, come back around to the main building from there,” she directed, sending Joseph, Petricia, and Andrew in one direction. She sent everyone in their own direction until she reached Gene and Bogdan. “Stay with my granddaughters. Cory and Ramses, you come with me.”
Sylvia and Sarah shrugged, figuring that they’d lose their escorts in short order while doing some power shopping. “Come along,” Sarah, the older of the two, said.
Gene and Bogdan could both smell food and headed for it as soon as they were out of Char’s sight. The young man joined his fellow teenagers.
Char, Cory, and Ramses walked straight toward the main building that had been designated on the map. Char thought about putting her pistols back on, but decided that she would remain “under cover,” for whatever that meant, since she knew that all the members of the pack stood out no matter where they went.
On their way, they saw a warrior moping along. He looked old, but wore no rank. Char waved him over.
“What gives?” she asked as if he knew she was Major Charumati.
“I really fucked up. I can’t believe how badly I fucked up,” the man lamented. Char looked at Cory as if she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. The man looked up. “Major Ramses! I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t recognize you.”
“What’s up, Skipper?” Ramses asked.
“Not anymore. Colonel Walton took my rank. I’m on the way to the brig,” he explained.
“You have a brig?” Char interjected.
“That’s the same thing he asked, and he was mad, but not as mad as Colonel Walton. She was shaking. I really fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did. Put yourself in the brig and hurry up!” Char ordered, having no idea what he’d done. “No, wait. Where are they? I need more information about this screw-up. And where are your people? Don’t you have a couple companies up here?”
The man carefully explained the entire layout and orientation of the city’s defenses, including where Terry and Marcie were. Once he finished, Char shooed him away.
Ramses closed his eyes. “Follow me,” Char said as she headed through the door of the main building. Inside, the FDG had a small checkpoint with two guards.
“What are your orders?” Char demanded as she stormed up to them. One was sitting down and one was standing casually.
“Who wants to know?” the standing woman asked. Char punched her in the stomach, ripped her rifle off her arm, and stuffed the barrel in the sitting man’s face. He hadn’t moved, his rifle slung uselessly over the back of the chair.
“I’m Major Charumati and you just failed this operational evaluation. I’m going to rub this one in Colonel Walton’s face. He will never look at Portland the same. You only have yourselves to blame. Now, report to the brig. Join Captain what’s-his-face and stay there until someone comes to collect you.”
The female warrior held out her hand for her rifle. “Oh, no. You go now. Off with you.” Char dismissed her with a wave. “Shall we?”
She, Cory, and Ramses followed the well-worn path up the stairs, because that was where the sign said the important people worked. They followed it up and made their way to the mayor’s office, walking in without knocking.
The receptionist was flustered, but Char only waved and smiled.
“Mister Mayor. You can call me Char and I’m the one that was evaluating the quality of your city’s defenses. Your garrison failed, but you, good sir, have some incredible smelling coffee. I gained quite the taste for it when we lived in Jamaica.” Char stood in front of the man’s desk.
He smiled and shrugged. “How can I begrudge such a beautiful infiltrator? Please,” the mayor said as he led the way to the tray and poured three cups. “I guess I’m at your mercy, so what do we do now?”
“I guess our part of the exercise is over, so how about a tour of your wonderful little city?” Char said happily.
“I would love to show you around,” he said, crooking an arm for her, but she held her cup in both hands and sniffed the aroma of Jamaican coffee in slow, deep breaths.
“In due time,” she suggested.
***
In the darkness, the Were had the advantage. In the darkness, they would come.
Terry replayed it in his mind, believing that Char would execute a night attack. He figured that the first thing she did that morning was find spots to watch the Force warriors establish their perimeter as well as get some sleep.
They’re coming tonight, Terry thought as he looked out and listened intently, counting on the enhanced hearing that his nanocytes gave him. “Any ideas?” Terry asked Marcie.
She shook her head. “Our people are making too much noise. I can’t hear a damn thing!”
“There is that
,” Terry conceded.
A runner appeared, a young private. “Colonel Walton.” The private saluted TH, before turning to Marcie and saluting her. “Colonel Walton. The mayor and his guests request the pleasure of your company at a banquet in your honor.”
Terry closed his eyes. “What do his guests look like and is there more than twenty of them?” Terry asked.
“Beautiful women, a couple really big guys, a bunch of others, some teenagers. Yes, sir. More than twenty.”
Terry rubbed his temples again. It had been that kind of day. “I’m never going to live this down.”
Marcie asked the private where the banquet was, thanked him after he told her, and sent him on his way.
Terry started walking in the indicated direction, head held high, walking proudly.
“Colonel?” Marcie asked. He stopped and turned. “Can we let them pack it in or should we leave them out here all night?”
“I think they’ll benefit by remaining on their posts. Who knows? Maybe you and I will be conducting the attack. We’ll be the ones with egg on our faces.”
Marcie sighed heavily and hung her head as she joined Terry Henry.
“Hold your head up. We lost and badly, but we’re still proud to wear the uniform, aren’t we?” He knuckled her chin playfully. “Come on, Marcie. Let’s get it over with.”
She snorted. “It’ll never be over.”
“You got that right,” Terry agreed. “Char and I have been married nearly one hundred and ten years. In all that time, she’s never bested me like this. I think I’m doomed for the next one hundred years. After that, maybe she’ll move on, but I will learn to dread the words, ‘remember that time in Portland?’ I can hear it now.”
“And Kae won’t give me grief?” Marcie smiled as she raised her head and they marched, in step, to the place where the banquet was.
They strolled in the front door and before anyone could say anything, Terry shouted, “I wondered when you guys were going to get here!”
Char laughed as she walked up to her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck. He couldn’t help but smile when he looked into her sparkling purple eyes.
“I took pity on you,” she told him. “And the mayor offered, so here we are.”
“You are obligated to debrief with them all, because they all have a different story to tell.” Char undraped her arms from around his neck, and let him pass to work his way around the room and listen to each of their stories.
Sue, Timmons, Shonna, Merrit, Butch, and Skippy were together and talking. Terry and Marcie interrupted them. “Char says that I have to listen to everybody’s story. Looks like you’re first.”
“You won’t believe it,” Sue started.
Timmons picked up. “There we were, no shit, knee-deep in alligators.”
“Snapping and biting. Whoa! They’ve got laser beams attached to their heads, what are we going to do?” Butch added, fully engrossed in the tale.
“I can’t believe we got out alive!” Skippy added.
“It was so unbelievable, words fail us,” Merrit offered.
“And then we found ourselves here. Like my new shoes?” Shonna asked.
“Thanks for that,” Terry told them, hurrying to the next group. Char waggled her fingers at him from across the room. Marcie followed like a sad puppy.
Kim, Kae, Ramses, and Cory were gathered together. They each had a bottle of Portland’s latest addition to their beer family, a hopped-up stout. They started to speak, but he stopped them and pointed to the beer. Kae pulled a bottle from behind his back and handed it to his dad.
Terry screwed the cap off and took a long drink. He closed his eyes and savored it. Jamaican beer was okay, but it wasn’t what he was holding in his hand. “This is the best beer I’ve had in a hundred and thirty-two years, maybe ever,” he purred. He took one more drink, swirling it across his tongue repeatedly before swallowing. “Pray, continue.”
“You wouldn’t believe. We were knee-deep in the shit, throwing fists like it was our job!” Kae started. Terry rolled his finger for the story to continue.
“The enemies of all mankind surrounded us, pressing in, crushing us,” Kimber declared.
Terry rolled his finger faster.
“So we offered them some beef jerky and that was all she wrote. Asses duly kicked and here we are, a little barbecue and beer. Don’t get no better than this,” Ramses stated.
Cory smiled and shook her head. “They must have been someplace else. I can neither confirm nor deny any of it.”
Terry thanked them and continued to the next group, in the back corner away from the others. Gene tried to stop them as they worked their way past. “Don’t worry, big guy. We’ll be back to take our medicine from you in a little bit.”
Joseph bowed his head slightly as Terry and Marcie approached. Petricia smiled and nodded. Andrew chuckled.
“I hope yours is better than theirs,” Terry said, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
“Did theirs have blood?”
Terry looked at Marcie. “Not really,” she said.
“Indeed, then ours will be better,” Joseph stated. Terry stood patiently, waiting for the tall tale to be spun, but no one spoke.
“Well?” Terry looked at Andrew. “Andrew.”
“A waxing moon scarred the blue of the sky, a perpetual hook, there but not there,” the Forsaken said.
“Under its awesome power, we transformed into creatures of the night, clad in black leather. It wouldn’t show blood stains, you see,” Petricia offered.
“I have spent no time with you, but you seem fascinating. Tell me more.” Terry moved to stand facing her. Joseph worked his way closer until the five of them were all wedged together. “Really?”
Joseph laughed and Petricia joined him. “Yes, we went on a mission to kill Forsaken and I found the love of my life.” Terry couldn’t help but look at Andrew.
“I’m still looking,” Andrew said with a single-shoulder shrug. “It took him four hundred years. I know I’ll get lucky quicker than that and then who’s going to be jealous?”
“Jealousy is for those who aren’t comfortable in their own skin,” Joseph said matter-of-factly.
“I’ll second that. You are a wise man, Joseph.”
“It’s simply experience. Lots and lots of experience from lessons learned the hard way,” Joseph said with his hand over his heart.
“I think you still smell like fish!” Terry declared, sniffing closely. Joseph pushed him away.
“Begone, cad!” Joseph waved Terry and Marcie away, then bowed.
“Thank you for sparing us another story.” Terry slapped his old friend Joseph on the shoulder and turned to run face first into the man-mountain known as Gene the Werebear.
“Big fight. We win. Now we eat,” Gene declared. Bogdan nodded and they headed back toward the buffet. Gene tried to stifle a belch, but failed miserably. Char was trying to keep the mayor and the members of the council occupied while Terry worked his way around the room. He singled out Aaron and Yanmei next, hoping that they would be more creative.
“I know you guys aren’t up for lying, so tell me the real story. How did you get into the city?” Terry asked.
“Parachutes made from frogs’ legs,” Aaron said without blinking.
“You used to be my favorite,” Terry replied.
“We are not allowed to share the truth with you,” Yanmei said softly. “So bear with the tale, please.”
Terry nodded for Aaron to continue.
“That’s it. We parachuted in using frogs’ legs.” He turned to Yanmei.
She shook her head vigorously.
“Fine!” Terry exclaimed.
“Dude,” Aaron whispered, leaning close to Terry. “We took a boat, brought us right to the dock and we walked in, just like Forsaken would do.”
Terry’s smile disappeared. He looked to Marcie and she gritted her teeth as she shook her head.
“We’ve spent all these years preparing to a fight a
battle that isn’t going to happen. No wonder those two privates were disgruntled. No attackers will ever come from those woods. A bear, maybe, but not an army, not a Forsaken, not even a Were, because they don’t have to. Free trade means anyone can walk right into the city,” Marcie lamented. “All this time. Wasted.”
“Not wasted, but we probably need to reorient their focus and establish new training guidelines,” Terry suggested.
Marcie nodded slowly.
“Come on. Let’s take the rest of our medicine so we can move on with what needs to be done.” Terry shook Aaron’s hand, before continuing on. They found Sylvia and Sarah with a young man, talking animatedly near the buffet. Terry had finished his beer and had been carrying around the empty bottle.
A young woman serving at the buffet took the bottle from him and offered him a plate. He wanted to get something to eat, but he also wanted to find out about the newcomer chatting up his granddaughters.
Terry compromised. He asked Marcie to get him a plate while he focused on the new kid.
“Hi, I’m Terry Henry Walton. Who the fuck are you?”
“Grandpa!” Sarah cried, looking for her mother to come to their rescue. Cory was occupied and didn’t see her daughter’s plea for help.
“I’m Magnus Tolliver,” the young boy replied calmly. “These elegant creatures are of your bloodline? I am appalled.”
“I’m appalled that you’re appalled,” Terry replied, unsure what to make of the well-spoken teenager. He didn’t know why he expected less from the young man, but he had. It was refreshing to be surprised by an educated soul in a world removed from where a person could study for a lifetime. “What’s your claim to fame, Magnus?”
“Claim to fame? I brought them here, and I’m spending the day before going home this evening. I live just a few miles down the river. I can make it in five minutes if I open her up.”
“And that’s how this ugly mob made their way into the city? Ingenious. I have to say that it’s refreshing to meet such a well-spoken young man. It reminds me of Shakespeare.”
Terry looked at the ceiling before narrating. “Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, by use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature...”
Nomad Omnibus 03: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 66