by Eric Thomson
“Needless to say, Harmon Amali’s fellow Coalition members are scurrying around like cockroaches high on reactor fuel, so I’d say message received and understood where they’re concerned. I’d be very surprised if anyone ever again tried something like what they did to you, Mister Decker, so well done.”
“I needed to collect my debt in full. Mission accomplished.” Zack shrugged dismissively.
“It was quite a stroke of genius having the Targi carry out his judgment and execution. It puts us at a decent remove, what we in the service like to call plausible deniability.”
“There wasn’t any genius involved, sir. It was sheer luck that the bastard had his hideout on a planet I knew from having been stationed there, sir.”
“I’m sure you would have figured something else if you’d been on another world,” Ulrich replied smoothly. “You have all the makings of a good operative.”
Decker recognized the old soft soap treatment when he heard it and figured it was time to choose. As much as he wanted to go back to a regiment, Talyn had been right. He was good at undercover black ops and enjoyed the work. There were still a lot of people like Harmon Amali out there who needed looking after.
“Seeing as I don’t have much on my social calendar for the next year or so, captain,” he said, “I might consider playing spook with this fine officer to my right, just to see if I like it, you understand.”
“You seem to like me,” she replied in an arch tone.
Ulrich, sensing there was more to it, chose to keep a neutral expression on his face.
“Glad to hear you say so, Mister Decker. I’d welcome you aboard, but you’ve been one of us for a while, especially since your effective posting to my department has been backdated to the day you left the 9th Marines. Take a few weeks off, both of you, but stay on the planet, just in case something comes up.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They rose and saluted.
“Enjoy your holidays.”
“We will, captain,” Zack winked at him, “we will.”
*
That same night they found themselves sitting on a darkened patio half a continent away from the HQ offices, admiring the stars and listening to the gentle sound of the surf while sipping on cold drinks.
“Do you still think of her a lot?”
“Every day, Hera, but doesn’t hurt quite as much as before. Seeing the bastard die took some of the fire out of the pain.”
“And who said revenge can’t be cathartic.” She smiled sadly at him, reaching out to touch his hand.
“So can a regular romp in the hay with a good partner.”
“Aaaaand,” she laughed, “we’re back on track, Marine-boy. Ever done it on a beach?”
“Nope. Wouldn’t want to get sand in sensitive places.”
“That’s why you bring a towel, you dunderhead.”
“Oh.”
“I just happen to have one handy.”
“Oh!”
Then her hand unexpectedly tightened on his wrist in a decidedly non-amorous way. She tapped him with her thumb, and he nodded, reaching down for his blaster.
The little critters who’d been singing the praises of the tropical night around their beach bungalow had fallen still as if their territory had been invaded by an unwanted intruder. Hera released his arm and slowly shifted forward in her seat, ready to jump up, her other hand searching for her gun.
All senses alert, they probed the darkness for a threat they knew was encroaching on their solitude. A faint scuffing sound reached Zack’s ears from the small footpath that led around the dense copse encircling the building.
He very slowly and quietly got up, keeping his back hunched to present a smaller target and stepped off the veranda. Hera followed him down, keeping watch in the other direction, to cover his back.
The faint red glow of a blaster battery suddenly appeared over the dark mass of a flowering bush and Decker yanked Talyn down. A plasma round lit up the night, passing through the spot he’d occupied a fraction of a second earlier.
Instinctively, he’d shut one eye to preserve some of his night vision and quickly found the shooter when he raised his head again. The Imperial Armaments blaster spoke twice, his would-be killer screamed once, and a clattering sound confirmed that he’d scored a clean hit.
They heard the bungalow door open behind them, and Talyn whirled around, still in a crouch, bringing up her gun. She double-tapped the shadow that filled the opening. This one didn’t even have time to scream.
“That’s two. What are the odds of more?” Decker whispered.
“Negligible. They tried to take us from two sides, with my dead buddy there climbing through a rear window. If they had a backup, we’d be seeing fireworks right now.”
“More contractors?”
“Probably. Either the hit on us is still out because someone didn’t cancel it, or these idiots just didn’t get the word.”
“Or it’s a new one. How did they know who we were?”
“Because Croyle and Vasser weren’t the only ones moonlighting. Let’s get the word to Ulrich. We need our own team to handle the forensics here, then we need to vanish someplace more secure.”
“I guess a romp on the beach is out.”
“Be glad they gave themselves away before we stripped down to our essentials and made the beast with two backs. That might have been a somewhat less than dignified way to go.”
“Meh, I’ve always said I wanted to die in the arms of a young lady because I was having too much fun. But I guess I meant when I was a hundred years old.”
“And I’m not a young lady.”
“You’re not a lady at all, darling.”
“Bastard.” Her communicator beeped. She held it up to her ear and listened. After a moment, she started to laugh.
“Too little, too late again, Frank. They tried and died. Send in the cleaners. What? Okay, I think I can live with that idea.”
She smirked.
“That was the duty officer warning us they’d got wind of a hit team on our tail. We’ll stick around until someone shows up, then we’re going to be taken to the safe house on Uluru Island a few hundred klicks to the south of here. It’s a bit more isolated than this place, but a lot safer. We’ll just have to make sure they turn off all the surveillance devices before we try the towel on the beach trick.”
“If you say so.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and leaned over to kiss her. “Though I don’t mind making the guys in the control center jealous.”
“And what about the women?”
“I don’t mind making them envious either.”
FATAL BLADE (BOOK 3)
Fatal Blade
Copyright 2016 Eric Thomson
Omnibus edition 2017
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in Canada
By Sanddiver Books
ISBN: 978-0-9948200-5-1
ONE
“I have a lock on the beacon, Major.” Mikado’s chief signalman glanced up at the tall officer standing behind him. “But it’s broadcasting something strange.”
“Why am I not surprised?” The Marine asked. “After all, we’re dealing with some of the weirder folks from naval intelligence.”
“Did we get the bugger yet, sir?” A gravelly voice asked from the door to the bridge. “The guys are loading up.”
“If the message ‘try to remember North is at the top of the compass’ means our drop zone party is in place, then yes.”
A sound very much like a volcano about to erupt rumbled deep within the newcomer’s barrel chest.
“I’m going to guess,” Sergeant-Major Augustus Vanleith said, “that Decker is sitting comfortably under a tree, making bets with his p
artner over how many of us are going to miss the tiny clearing he’s marked.”
“You may laugh all you want, sarn’t-major, just as long it’s secure, and he’s scouted out the target area properly,” Major Kal Ryent, commanding officer of the 251st, replied.
“I doubt spending time with intelligence has rotted Zack’s brains to the extent of forgetting where he came from, sir. He’ll have us in the stockade and out again before dawn, with the Garonne rebels and the Navy’s undercover guy.”
Vanleith fell into step beside his CO as they headed for the starboard hangar deck to join the assault group.
“Although,” he continued, “promotion to chief warrant officer sometimes does screw with an old command sergeant’s brains, I’ll grant you that.”
“Not for you then, that kind of promotion?”
“And do what? I’m not a specialist, and I don’t want to become one.”
“Decker’s a grunt and still got a warrant,” Ryent pointed out.
They climbed down a circular staircase and stepped into a cavernous hold where troops in battle armor were boarding black stealth shuttles.
The compartment, configured as a flight deck, took up half of the extra space in Mikado’s belly. Although at its core a fully armed frigate wrapped in a large freighter’s hull, the special operations Q-ship looked like nothing more than an innocuous merchantman.
“Scuttlebutt says he wasn’t given a choice,” the sergeant-major pointed out. “Not for the warrant nor the detail to intelligence, and considering the route he took to get there, via the bottom of an endless whiskey bottle, early retirement and all, no thanks. I’m just glad he’s back in the Corps and doing something he’s good at.”
“So I shouldn’t be worried about the drop zone or the target recon?”
“Not even for a second and if it makes you feel any better, remember that he’s got adult supervision with him.”
“Seeing as how I know Decker’s NILO personally, I’m not sure you’re giving me much comfort.”
**
The Naval Intelligence Liaison Officer in question checked their perimeter sensors one last time, to make sure none of them had decided to grow legs and walk away, or gone on strike; of course, sensors weren’t unionized, but one never knew with intelligent technology.
Satisfied, she glanced at her partner, who seemed comfortably ensconced between the gnarled roots of a tall tree, faced lifted towards the night sky, a satisfied smile on his hard face.
“You look uncommonly pleased with yourself, Zack.”
“It’s good to be on the ground for once and watch intrepid pathfinders fly down, trying hard not to crash into trees or other painfully solid terrain features.”
“Bullcrap.” She smiled indulgently at him. “You miss jumping out of perfectly good shuttles.”
“True, true.” He nodded happily. “But I can get sufficient gratification in other ways.”
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at his pleasant smile. Though a commander outranked a mere chief warrant officer like Zack, Hera Talyn knew better than to take control of an operation involving his beloved pathfinders.
Decker had laid out the drop zone markers himself which meant he’d probably done or would be doing something to amuse himself at the jumpers’ expense if the message he’d attached to the beacon’s carrier wave was any indication.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing, sweetie.” He smirked at her. “Just keep your eyes and ears on the perimeter and I’ll look up at the stars.”
“Don’t fall asleep while you’re waiting. You seem awfully snug.”
“No fear. We got a ping from Mikado. They have our signal locked in, and the drop ships are launching as we speak.”
“You were going to share this with me when exactly?”
“The ping came in two heartbeats before I told you. If you weren’t so busy clucking over my comfort, you’d have heard it.”
Talyn glared at him.
“You’re an ass, Decker.”
“So you keep saying and yet we’ve been traipsing across the stars together for almost two years, knocking off the odd menace to the Commonwealth. You want to change partners, I’m sure Captain Ulrich will be happy to oblige.”
“You think? You’re my rescue project. I’m responsible for you and likely will be until the day you screw up again and go for retirement part two or until one of us swallows a shot of plasma.”
“And I’m ever so grateful, commander, sir.”
She gave him the rigid digit salute and for some reason, that seemed to amuse him more than it should have, but he settled back into his carefully smoothed out hollow and dropped the eyepiece of his night vision sensor down in front of his eyes. Then, he leaned his head against the rough bark of the exposed root at just the right angle to catch the pathfinders when they’d be on final approach. Decker had learned long ago that any idiot could be uncomfortable.
**
Mikado ejected its stealth shuttles moments after it was hidden from the orbital station by the bulk of Marengo, a minor and not very profitable colony near the Shrehari frontier. With the geosynchronous habitat out of sight, the assault force had little to fear from the civilian-grade satellites that encircled the planet’s equator.
The craft sped downwards on a shallow approach, cutting through the upper atmosphere without leaving a trace. No light reflected off their black skins, no sensor wave bounced back to betray them. They made a full orbit around Marengo before reaching the planned jump altitude, some fifty kilometers southwest of Decker’s position, at an altitude of twenty thousand meters, in a zone of rarefied air and intense cold.
Three pathfinder troops spilled into the night air, quickly pulling into a tight formation that would allow them to land near each other. Wind howled over their helmeted heads, but their battle armor sealed them off from both noise and chill.
Decker heard brief clicks from the lead shuttle over his receiver, signaling they’d dropped their load, and he began scanning the sky in earnest. Though only the pathfinders should be able to see the drop zone markers, it wouldn’t do to turn them on too soon.
“We’ve got a flock of birdies in the sky, Hera.”
Though his words were light-hearted, his tone had become deadly serious. She could never tell when Decker would act the consummate professional Marine or when he’d be the sarcastic, if not cynical warrior who’d long since grown weary of the Fleet’s chickenshit. Evidently, manning a drop zone warranted the former.
“Yeah, I heard that signal. All is quiet on the perimeter.”
Finally, after a long period of silence, the short-range link came to life with a human voice.
“Rookie Trooper, this is Grey Goose. I need a compass.”
Zack glanced at Hera.
“This is it. Light up the markers and keep your eyes glued on the sensors. If the opposition got wise and made us, now would be the moment to attack.”
Talyn touched her control pad and nodded.
“Done.”
She could have sworn she heard Decker laugh softly in the darkness.
**
The kite parachutes opened at one thousand meters out and up from the drop zone just as the markers came on. When the command push crackled in Augustus Vanleith’s ears, he knew exactly what his commanding officer’s words would be.
“Please tell me I’ve had a stroke, sarn’t-major.”
“Sorry, sir. You’re no more confused than the joker who set those markers. If it’s any consolation, there’s no doubt now that Decker’s in charge of the DZ.”
“Who in his right mind programs them to transmit a profoundly obscene sexual invitation in gutter Shrehari?”
“Decker?”
“He’s not in his right mind.” Ryent sounded resigned.
“Zack would be the first to admit it. Intelligence work isn’t going to improve his sanity either. I just hope he didn’t extend the prank to having us land in a fragrant cattle pasture or some reeking swam
p.”
“You’d think his NILO would be able to stop him from going that far, but I’m not sure I trust her any more than I trust him.”
**
“Jumpers inbound.” Decker climbed out of the comfortable hollow and grabbed his weapon. “Turn off the markers when I give you a shout, then make them vanish. I’ll go greet my little airborne buddies.”
“Zack?”
“Yeah?”
“You look much too pleased with yourself. What didn’t you tell me?”
“Look at your controls.”
He grinned at her, teeth shining white in the shadows.
“Really?” She said, shaking her head in disgust after scanning the readout. “The day you decide to grow up, let me know. I’ll have the Fleet Times there to record the blessed event.”
“It’ll never happen, sweetheart. I may not be able to stay young, but I’ll always remain immature. Besides, practical jokes are a tradition in the pathfinders.”
He blew her a wet kiss and then vanished between the shrubs at the edge of the wood line.
Moments later, she heard the soft rustle of kite parachutes and then the equally muffled sound of feet touching the ground. Decker uttered a single word: off.
Talyn swiped the pad’s screen, ordering the marker array to self-destruct and leave nothing behind but mounds of dust that would disperse on the morning breeze.
Ryent saw a dark silhouette with the correct IFF patch emerge from the gloom. By the size and the way the shape moved, it had to be Decker. That was soon confirmed when he dropped into a crouch and whispered a few nonsense words – the pre-arranged recognition code.
“It’s Grey Goose, I assume?” Decker asked. “If it isn’t, you’ve got the wrong DZ and are going to have to move along. I’m waiting for some sex tourists.”
“Rookie Trooper, eh? Still a dumb name,” Ryent replied, grasping Zack’s hand, “but I suppose intelligence pukes need something to make themselves feel better about their sorry business. By the way, don’t ever set the markers in a non-standard way for my outfit again.”