Op File Treason

by J. Clifton Slater

  The people waiting for a tour of the city by airbus stood on the landing deck. From nine stories up, they marveled at the view and talked in anticipation of the aerial adventure. Gasps and shouts of surprise erupted from the crowd as a parachute appeared over one end of the deck.

  Warlock pumped her legs as she ran suspended between the chute and the edge of the landing deck. Faces with open mouths and hands clasped to their cheeks followed her progress. At the end of the platform, she placed a foot on the edge and kicked upward. With an assist from the push off, the chute gained altitude.

  The tourists stared down the street until the parachute disappeared between the low buildings to the south. While their night tour over the city would be nice, the real thrill of the evening had just flown by.

  ***

  Warlock was exhausted and, at each intersection, more air was sucked from under her chute. With equal parts relief and anticipation, she reached the edge of the city. Searching the dark night, she almost missed the long government building. But streetlights surrounded the structure, outlining the surface and giving her a target.

  She flared the chute to extend the flight and just as she flew over the end of the dark roof, Warlock’s feet touched down on the gravel and tar. Then, she gritted her teeth, set her jaw and pumped her legs. Even Strikers had limits and this mission had been running for hours. Digging deep in her reserves, Warlock ran hard along the roof keeping air under the chute. At the end of the run, she leaped into the air. Gasping for breath and with fingers barely able to grip the risers, she flew over trees that brushed her spent legs.

  Just before her arms gave out and gravity won the battle over her flight, the chute and Marine sailed over the final tree and the shuttle. With the last of her energy, Warlock flared the parafoil and floated to a landing. Still on her feet, yet wobbly, she turned to the dark shape running at her and yelling.

  “Warlock. It was an unanticipated horizontal wind shear,” Poet shouted as he jogged up to her. A portable radio was clutched in one arm and an extended antenna stretched out behind him. “How are you? Do you need a hospital, a medic, a clinic, a nurse, a doctor, a surgeon, medical attention, first aide, last rites…?”

  “Relax Poet. Just another day at the office,” Warlock assured him as she collapsed the parachute. “What I do need is a steak with all the sides.”

  “You’re thinking of food after all you’ve been through?” asked Walden.

  “How do you figure a wind shear?” she inquired while ignoring his question.

  “It’s all over the news,” explained Walden. “A window in Jordy Katrijn’s condo blew out. The reports say it was a horizontal wind shear.”

  “The wind was fierce but it wasn’t a shear,” commented Warlock. “It was a perfectly targeted shape charge that took out his window. I’m starved. Feed me Poet, feed me now or suffer the consequences.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Walden replied as they headed for the shuttle.

  Chapter – 24 Mission Insertion

  Walden glanced at the screen, refreshed the search site again, and picked up his cup of coffee. A surprised look appeared on his face when Diosa walked into the kitchen.

  “I thought you would sleep in,” he commented. “You’ve got to be wasted.”

  “Coffee and a run,” she replied as she filled a cup. “Stiff from last night. I need to work out the kinks. What are you doing?”

  “I’m watching for Jordy Katrijn’s plane to file a flight plan,” he explained. “It’s still early. He’s probably having a hard time locating a locksmith.”

  “Or a safecracker,” Diosa replied as she drained the cup. At the front door, she turned and looked at her pilot. “You did good on the mission.”

  “Thank you, Master Sergeant. But it was you in harm’s way,” Walden replied beaming at the compliment. “I just made observations and flew the shuttle.”

  “You really have spent too much time working with civilians,” Diosa observed. “For the record, Marines respect our intelligence people and especially our pilots. And we give them our heartfelt thanks when they do good. So, thank you.”

  “What happens when they screw up?” he asked.

  “Poet, you absolutely do not want to know,” she warned.

  The door closed leaving Walden alone. He hit refresh again.

  ***

  “His flight is scheduled for ten hundred hours,” Walden reported when Diosa came from the body washing station. “The plane is headed for a small airfield in the mountains. Do we need to get moving?”

  “No. Let’s be sure he doesn’t change the destination,” Diosa suggested. “Plus, I haven’t had breakfast.”

  “Do you want me to fix something?” Walden asked.

  “Nope. We’re going out for breakfast,” she replied. “Then we’re going shopping.”

  “What are we buying,” he inquired.

  “Pitons, climbing ropes, energy bars, things like that,” she explained. “And a geographical map of a river valley with elevation lines.”

  “Why the map?” he asked.

  “How are your nap-of-the-earth flying skills?” she replied.

  ***

  “This is not the proper craft for this. And it’s not how it’s done,” Walden exclaimed as he jerked the shuttle to the left, straightened for a few seconds then yanked it back to the left.

  “If this isn’t the way, what is?” Warlock commented.

  “We load a GPS program in the computer with the exact coordinates of every turn and rise,” he said pulling up to fly them over a sand bar. Once the shuttle dipped back to the course of the river, he continued. “The program flies the route.”

  “As you pointed out, the topographical programs for this region are missing,” Diosa reminded him. “Besides, I trust your skills more than a set of data points from a survey vessel. Or a pirated program with who knows how many errors.”

  “Your trust maybe misplaced,” suggested Walden steering right to follow a bend in the river. “We could end up splattered all over the place.”

  “I don’t think so,” Warlock assured him. “I’ve got the best pilot in the Galactic Council Realm at the helm.”

  The shuttle, even at the lowest power, shot through the river valley at blinding ground speed. Repelling gravities were the only thing keeping the spacecraft from plowing into the river or the steep sides. But gravity wouldn’t prevent it from smashing in nose first and disintegrating as the shuttle flipped and rolled.

  When they approached the area of the burned down Tygo lodge, the shuttle shot up over the bank, brushed the tops of tall weeds, and crossed the lake as if on hydrofoil skis. On the far side, Walden settled the craft between the woodshed and an old cabin. Then he collapsed over the controls.

  “It gets dark early in the mountains. I wouldn’t want to fly that route in the dark,” he exclaimed before asking. “Do you think we got in undetected?”

  “They can’t see the wreckage of the Tygo Lodge from Katrijn’s chalet,” Diosa remarked. “Unless they’re watching the river, which I doubt, we have a good insertion.”

  “Unless they’re waiting for us to leave the shuttle before shooting us,” he suggested.

  “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll exit first,” volunteered Diosa.

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Walden replied. “I mean, you are a…”

  “A Marine and bullet proof. Don’t worry about it, Poet,” Diosa said. “I’m trained for this.”

  Warlock slipped on her helmet and unbuckled the harness. After unstrapping the sniper rifle from the seat next to her, the Marine walked to the hatch.

  “Please enjoy the lovely music while you wait,” Diosa said before jumping to the ground and running into the fading light.

  Walden was confused. The only sounds were the ion cannons cooling and the creaking of the hull as it adjusted to the planet’s gravity. There was no music.

  ***

  Warlock followed the shoreline past the woodshed before veering off into the thi
n cluster of trees. Circling to her left, she walked through the pines staying an equal distance from the ashes of the burned lodge. At the edge of the wooded area, the Marine dropped to a knee and sighted through the scope.

  There were no vehicles in the parking lot or signs of a camp for people watching the ruins. Creeping forwards, she scanned the expanse between the parking lot and the lake. It appeared no one had the lodge under surveillance. After slinging the rifle strap over her shoulder, Warlock jogged to the gravel parking lot and took the access road northwards. A half hour later, she slowed. A vehicle blocked the narrow bridge over the river. A man stood near the hood. Spread out on the metal surface was a radio, a rifle, and an assortment of combat gear.

  Warlock turned around and made a decision as she jogged back to Walden and the shuttle.

  ***

  “Poet. Can you safety make the trip out of here in the morning?” Warlock inquired.

  “I recorded the route on the navigator,” bragged Walden. “The computer can fly the river in the dark, in reverse, in record time, anytime.”

  “Good because there is an armed guard about three thousand meters from here,” she advised her pilot. “I don’t want you here if they come to check on the lodge.”

  “What about you?” Poet asked.

  “I’ll be up on the ridge watching them,” Warlock explained. “Help me load the sled.”

  For the next hour, Diosa and Walden stacked gear on a sled used to haul logs. Once everything was strapped down, the Marine dropped the sled’s harness over her shoulder.

  “I’ll be out of touch for a few days,” she informed Poet. “If all goes well, I’ll contact you when it’s over.”

  “Wait. There must be something I can do,” pleaded Poet. “I can fly a combat air patrol and get you communications. See, I can help.”

  “If Jordy Katrijn or Mikael Veeti catch a whiff of a circling shuttle, they might bolt,” suggested Warlock. “Clear the area and stay safe.”

  “Okay. Let’s say I leave. What would you need if you had close air support?” asked Walden. “Give me one thing.”

  “A diversion when I go in would be nice,” she described. “However, a squad of combat Marines would be better.”

  “Sorry, the Galactic Council Marine Corps isn’t available but I am,” Poet announced. “Let me think on the diversion.”

  “We’ll be out of contact so it’ll be a mental puzzle,” commented Warlock. In her mind she realized that leaving Walden unoccupied and without a mission wasn’t good for him and by extension, the mission. “Tell you what. I’ll monitor the radio every few hours. And make a coded announcement before I begin the assault.”

  “An instantaneous diversion created on a few minute’s notice,” pondered Walden. “That’s tough.”

  “Work on it for me,” Diosa suggested as she stepped forward pulling the sled behind her.

  “What is the signal?” Walden asked.

  Diosa stopped and thought for a few seconds

  “Osprey Alert! Osprey Alert!” she replied combining her memory of watching the bird of prey hunt and the Striker’s affirmation call.

  Then she tugged forward and the Marine and the sled faded into the night.

  ***

  Diosa was sweating by the time she pulled the sled up the last meter of the slope. Once on the relatively level high mountain plateau, she located a trail and headed west. The half-moon helped but the weak illumination would vanish shortly as it passed behind the mountain. Nevertheless, the light helped her avoid limbs and small trees. By two hundred hours, she caught the first sight of a light in the distance. A brief flash then the light was blocked by the trees. When she drew abreast of Katrijn’s chalet, the night lights of the mountain home glowed steady unless blocked by the tallest tree’s branches.

  In the dark, Warlock turned south, crossed to the other side of the plateau and began another climb. This time, she fed a line out behind her. Upon reaching a tree trunk, she anchored the line to the tree and, hand-over-hand, pulled the sled up to her. On the third hoist, the sled got stored on the uphill side of a tree.

  Diosa scooted across the slope. When she located an opening in the trees where she could see the lights on the corners of the chalet, Warlock began scooping loose leaves and twigs and began piling them downhill. After creating a wall of ground cover, she located stones and built a solid wall behind the barrier.

  Before moving the sled to the prepared area, Warlock crawled down the slope. On the way back up, she swept the trail clear of the sled tracks with a branch.

  The first rays of light brought another flurry of activity. She crawled around the camouflage cover checking for loose ends she might have missed in the dark. Satisfied with the disguised location, she opened the sniper case and pulled out the scope.

  Over the treetops, she scanned the chalet quickly. Then she pulled a line that was anchored with a piton to an uphill tree and pulled a pouch to her. From the bag, she fetched an energy bar, ripped open the wrapper and bit into her breakfast.

  ***

  Late in the morning, Mikael Veeti appeared outside the compound’s wall. He didn’t check the landing strip but did patrol the exterior. Warlock made a note of the time, and where Mikael put his feet. Once positive of his activity, Warlock looked away from Jordy Katrijn’s bodyguard and head of security.

  Shifting to the chalet, she observed a large man leaning in the doorframe of the backdoor. She jotted the location down and named him Tiny. As with every surveillance operation where you didn’t know the actual name, Warlock gave him an identifying moniker. This would save time and prevent her from double counting Tiny every time he showed himself.

  Another man came around the house from the front. He was painfully lean so she tagged him Slim. Slim nodded to Tiny and continued around the perimeter of the backyard before vanishing around the other side of the mansion. Tiny ducked back through the doorframe and vanished. Diosa started a stopwatch on her PID to record the length of time Slim took to complete a circuit. Fifteen minutes later, Tiny reappeared just in time to watch Slim circle the backyard. Apparently, one was the inside guard and the other the outside sentry. Mikael checked in from time to time but didn’t seem to have any assigned duties.

  It was a busy morning at the Katrijn vacation home, thought Warlock. They were on high alert. Seeing as their boss’ condo was bombed the night before last, she couldn’t blame them.

  An hour later, Warlock grew weary of watching Tiny greet Slim on every lap. Sitting back to rest her eye, she grabbed an energy bar. It appeared the morning crew consisted of two men on guard if she didn’t count Mikael.

  Later in the afternoon, Tiny was replaced by a man with a camouflage cap wearing a leather holster with a long-barreled pistol. Gun assumed the doorframe position as the greeter. The man strutting around the house received the handle Pep. Pep cut fifteen seconds off the lap. Other than the one change, the inside and outside guards appeared and vanished on a regular schedule.

  Warlock took a nap for a couple of hours and checked her radio when she woke. There was no reply from Poet. After another energy bar, which she choked down with swallows of water, she picked up the scope.

  The new man in the doorway had a cup in his hand and he took frequent sips. He was noted as Sip, the third inside guard. It startled Warlock when the outside sentry came around the house. He had a pronounced limp and scars on his face. Why did Mikael place a man with a bad leg on the walking portion? Warlock had no clue. But the scars were space exposure burns and that meant Dip had spent time on spaceships, hard time at that.

  ***

  Warlock flipped on the night optic and scanned the back of the chalet. Tiny, his recognizable bulk backlit by a weak, diffused light, stood in the doorway. He raised an arm at the sentry patrolling the yard. The Marine assumed it was Slim. Growing bored after two laps, she elevated the scope and perused the parapet on the right.

  A mound moved a little higher than the wall but Warlock couldn’t get a fix on the ima
ge. A half hour later the dark bump vanished. It reappeared ten minutes later on the left parapet. Again, the smooth mound moved revealing that the position was manned.

  Thirty minutes passed and the mound sank below the wall. With the roof blocking her view of the north parapets, Warlock set a timer. One hour and thirty minutes later, the mound rose in the right-side parapet. And Warlock knew what she was seeing.

  A roving sniper on overwatch, probably in a poncho to break up the outline of the man and hide the shape of his rifle and scope. She’d only discovered the shooter because of her elevation. In daylight, this additional level of security would be visible from the fields surrounding the mansion. By posting the sniper only at night, Mikael kept it a secret. Thirty minutes later, the mound vanished and ten minutes after, the bump reappeared in the left parapet.

  Between the exterior and interior guards and the sniper, Warlock’s approach options were narrowed considerably and timing became paramount. She watched until Gun and Pep relieved Slim and Tiny. Being unable to identify the sniper presented another issue. Was he an eighth guard or one of the others repurposed for the duty? She set her PID for just before sunrise, stretched out and pulled a poncho over her for warmth.

  ***

  “Warlock. Come in Warlock,” the radio vibrated her ear piece and she missed the first words. “Warlock come back.”

  “Good morning Poet,” Diosa said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Cat napped. I’ve been busy,” Walden replied. “We have about ten minutes of communications.”

  “What is your location?” she asked.

  “Orbital route,” he informed her. “We’re on a narrow beam. Sorry, it took a while to locate you.”

  “Any news that I need to know?” Diosa inquired.

  “Negative,” her pilot replied.

  “I’m going in at twenty-two-four-zero hours,” Diosa informed him.

  “What time do you want the diversion?” Walden asked.