Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (30 page)

Bookbinder arched an eyebrow at Crucible. “Guess it works on more than just inanimate objects, huh?”

Crucible stood dumbstruck. “Guess it does, sir.”

“Still worried about me leading the team?”

Crucible shrugged and gestured to the woman beside him.

“You remember Major Woon, sir.”

Bookbinder straightened and looked at the Terramancer, with her gray-streaked hair and serious expression. “I do remember. You’ve been doing a fine job with the gardens, Major. I’m sorry this one got a little cooked.”

“That’s fine, sir. We can regrow it.”

Bookbinder’s gaze traveled down to the ground. A small fox-looking creature sat there. It had huge ears and intelligent eyes.

Its front legs ended in human-looking hands.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“We don’t have a name for it, sir. But they’re fairly common around the FOB,” Woon said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Bookbinder said.

“I know, sir,” Woon said. “Yes, I have it Whispered.”

Bookbinder crossed his arms. “You are a very naughty major, you know that?”

Woon colored. “Sir, Crucible assured me that amnesty would be granted for . . .”

“At ease. He told you right. I just . . . I didn’t suspect it from you.”

Woon cocked her head. “Why is that, sir?”

“You seem so . . . by the book. Serious. I’d never pegged you as a lawbreaker. I mean, I’m glad you are, but I’m surprised.”

Woon shrugged.

“You don’t even go by your call sign.” Bookbinder said.

Woon shrugged again. “I’ve been supply all my career, sir. When I came up Latent, that didn’t change. Most Terramancers are guys, so I never really fit in anyway.”

“What is your call sign, anyway?” Bookbinder asked.

“Branchmender, sir.” Crucible answered for her.

“I hate it, sir.” Woon said.

“Fair enough,” Bookbinder said. “What can I do for you?”

Crucible cleared his throat. “Woon’s your Terramancer, sir. For the mission to FOB Sarpakavu.”

“FOB . . . FOB what?”

“The Indian FOB, sir. That’s what they call it.”

“Woon is . . .? No. I need you running the Terramantic austerity measures here,” Bookbinder said.

“Major Woon has a talented XO, sir,” Crucible replied. “A captain of real ability who she has fully briefed on your intentions regarding the austerity measures. Both Major Woon and I have complete confidence in his ability to get the job done and done right, sir.”

“Sir,” Major Woon added, “if there’s a chance to save this installation, then I want to be a part of it. Not to glory-hound, but I am one of the most able Terramancers on this base, and definitely the best Whisperer outside of Umbra Coven.”

Bookbinder stared at her, and some of Woon’s nervousness returned. “Sir,” she added.

“Sir,” Crucible added, “Major Woon is following your excellent example of stepping up to the mission while simultaneously delegating authority to a competent subordinate.”

Bookbinder chuckled. “Touché.”

“You told me to get you the best,” Crucible said. “This is it.”

“High praise,” Bookbinder said. “Very well. I guess you’re hired.”

It took Woon a moment to suppress the smile that spread across her face, transforming her from tired woman to young girl. “You won’t regret it, sir.”

“Here’s your enlisted compliment, sir.” Crucible gestured behind him at four men who looked as if they’d stepped out of an action film. Their leader, a sergeant first class, looked every inch the Spaghetti Western desperado, complete with flint gray eyes and a day’s growth of stubble on his chiseled jaw. The next two looked like they could bend cold iron with their bare hands, their hair cropped Marine Corps short and their biceps straining the cuffed sleeves of their uniforms. The remaining soldier was noticeably shorter, had let his hair grow so long it bordered on insubordinate. He was thin in comparison to the rest, but his eyes were like his comrades’, calm, alert, focused.

Killer’s eyes. All four men wore special forces tabs on their shoulders.

“Sergeant First Class Sharp is your noncom, sir,” Crucible said. “Specialists Fillion and Anan are your shooters.” He gestured to the shorter man. “This is Specialist Archer. Best medic they’ve got. Sharp, Fillion, and Anan ran an op with Oscar Brit-ton before he escaped. They got a little banged up, but are back on the line now. Like Major Woon, they requested this assignment as soon as I put the word out. They come with impeccable credentials.”

Bookbinder nodded, noting their professional nonchalance.

“They look tough.”

“Toughest we’ve got, sir. If there are operators who can get this job done, they’re it.”

Sharp and his men said nothing. There was no bravado, no false modesty. They stood with folded arms, waiting for orders.

“All right,” Bookbinder said. “I guess that’s that. Now all we have to do is contact Dhatri and . . .”

“Sir.” Dhatri’s voice reached him. Bookbinder turned to see the subedar major, the towering naga trailing in his wake, hissing urgently.

He halted a few paces away and cracked a British-style salute, palm outward. Bookbinder returned it in American fashion and smiled. “Speak of the devil, Subedar Major. We were just talking about you.”

Dhatri puffed, looking harried. Vasuki-Kai hissed loudly, pointing first at him, then at Bookbinder.

“Sir,” Dhatri said. “I apologize for coming unannounced, but His Highness is most insistent. He says that time is growing short and demands that you outfit an expedition to FOB Sarpakavu immediately.”

Bookbinder laughed. Crucible and Woon grinned. Even the corners of Sharp’s mouth rose a bit.

Dhatri’s expression hovered between shock and anger.

Vasuki-Kai rolled his shoulders back, his heads darting upward, looking in all directions at once in apparent confusion. He hissed an interrogative.

“His Highness demands to know what it is you are finding so funny.”

It was a moment before Bookbinder could answer. “Please apologize to His Highness on my behalf, Subedar Major. It’s just that we were about to come find you to inform you that we have assembled a team and are preparing to depart for your FOB.”

Dhatri looked mollified. “Very good, sir. Where is this team?”

Bookbinder swept an arm backward, indicated Woon, Sharp, and his men. “Here it is. I’ll be leading it personally.”

Vasuki-Kai paused before tentatively hissing.

“His Highness says this is a very small team.”

Bookbinder nodded. “Which is why I respectfully request that His Highness and his
Bandhav
accompany us. We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

Crucible met Bookbinder in his office long after dark. Bookbinder had been racing to complete preparations before departing, an act he apparently planned to accomplish on no sleep at all, despite Crucible’s fervent protests. A lieutenant entered at Crucible’s side. She was nervous, all of maybe twenty-three years old, her uniform looking a size too big for her.

“This is Lieutenant Ripple, sir.” Crucible gestured to the young woman stood at attention.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Bookbinder said, and turned shadowed eyes to her. “Ripple a call sign or your name?”

“Both, sir,” she answered. She gestured to her Hydromancer’s lapel pin. “The guys thought it appropriate when I came up Latent.”

Bookbinder chuckled. “Well, okay, I was—”

“You want me to be on the team, sir?” Ripple cut him off, then put a hand over her eyes. “Sorry, sir, I’m . . . uh . . . enthusiastic sometimes.”

Bookbinder chuckled again. “It’s fine, Lieutenant, but no. I need all hands on deck here, especially folks with your abilities. The FOB has to hold, and clean water is going to be critical to that particular mission.”

“It’s going to be critical to your mission, too,” Crucible added. “I was thinking you’d decided to take a Hydromancer when you asked me to bring Lieutenant Ripple to see you.”

“Yeah, about that,” Bookbinder said, reaching behind his desk and lifting a plastic bucket of water with a grunt. “Heavy,” he said, setting it on the desk. The water’s surface was rank, with particles of mud and algae swirling across it. A foul odor wafted through the room.

Crucible wrinkled his nose. “What’s this for?”

Bookbinder gestured to Ripple. “You can clean that up, right? Make it drinkable?”

Ripple didn’t blink. “Certainly, sir.”

“How? What exactly is your magic doing when you clean water?”

“It’s hard to explain, sir. I don’t mess with the dirt and bacteria, that’s a Terramancer’s job. I sort of . . . call the water itself forth from that, separate it out. What you wind up with is just pure water. No contaminants. That’s the short answer, anyway.”

“That’s the answer I wanted,” Bookbinder said, pulling a short piece of rebar from his pocket and holding it over the bucket. “Okay, use your magic to clean the water in this bucket.”

Ripple shrugged and held out a hand. Bookbinder placed one of his hands over her own and shut his eyes, concentrating. The water in the bucket began to bubble for a short moment before petering out, the slime on the surface reconstituting.

Ripple’s eyes widened. “Sir, what are you . . .”

“Keep going!” Bookbinder interrupted her. “Finish the spell. This won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Ripple’s eyes remained wide and fixed on Bookbinder, but she complied.

After a moment, Bookbinder grunted in satisfaction. He hefted the piece of rebar, unchanged. “Well, let’s hope this works.”

He waved away Crucible’s question and dropped the piece of metal into the bucket. He stared at it with folded arms, not breathing.

“Sir, enough of the dance–of–a–thousand-veils act. What’s the point of this exercise?”

“The point,” Bookbinder said, looking up, “is to leave you with as many Sorcerers as possible. And I do believe I have just succeeded in that very objective.”

He gestured back down at the bucket, full to the brim with potable water, clear and sparkling under the fluorescent office lights.

Bookbinder sank into his body armor, letting the huge rucksack slung over his shoulders absorb the shuddering of the helicopter’s airframe. Vasuki-Kai, Dhatri, Woon, Sharp, Fillion, Anan, and Archer all sat uncomfortably on the Chinook’s long benches. The humans looked like camouflage-patterned cauliflower, bulging grotesquely with gear. Outside the helo’s open cargo hatch, two door gunners scanned the airspace and the ground beneath them for threats. Fortunately, they didn’t see any. If the goblins spotted the helo this far out from the FOB, they’d probably be under attack from the moment they landed.

They needed time to get clear of the ring of hostile Defender tribes and into the territory beyond. After that, the helo would push them as far as its fuel would allow, saving only the reserves necessary for a safe return to the FOB.

Bookbinder tried to sleep, resting his helmet brim against the action of the breaching shotgun they’d given him to carry, but it was useless. The giant helo was sensitive to every gust of wind, jostling him awake the moment he thought he might be drifting off. Sharp and his people looked bored. Vasuki-Kai coiled toward the entrance to the cockpit, bent nearly double to accommodate his height, looking like he held court in helicopter cabins every day. Dhatri sat nestled in the coils of his giant tail, looking nervously out the open cargo hatch. Woon had put her goggles over her eyes, leaving the black cloth dustcover in place, hiding her expression. Bookbinder finally gave up on sleeping and sat blinking through his dust goggles as the helo shed speed and altitude, the roaring of the rotors dying down. Sharp and his men advanced to the cargo ramp, weapons at the low ready, while the rest of the group scrambled for their gear.

At last, the helo touched down with a jolt, and Sharp and his men advanced out of the hatch, guns tracking the perimeter, before taking a knee and giving a hand signal that it was safe to exit. Bookbinder, Woon, and Dhatri shouldered their weighty gear and stumbled out into the saw-toothed grass, rippling in the rotor wash like the green surface of an ocean. Vasuki-Kai followed leisurely behind.

Bookbinder was still taking in the landscape when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see the helo’s crew chief, sun visor and helmet hiding the upper half of his face, lean forward to shout into his ear. “You’re clear as far as we could see all the way down, sir! I wouldn’t sit still any longer than I have to. Good luck and Godspeed!”

Bookbinder nodded, and the crew chief saluted, racing back into the helo. The huge airframe shook as it rose skyward again, circling the area once before disappearing back the way they had come, a slowly shrinking point in the early-winter sky.

Bookbinder took in their surroundings. There was almost nothing to see. As far as his eye could cover, knee-high saw-toothed grass waved in the cold air, patches of mottled brown the only break in the carpet of pale green. He felt a brief moment of disorientation, vertigo. There was no way to tell where they had come from, where they were going.

Sharp tapped his shoulder and pointed behind him. “Sir, it’s that way. We need to get moving.” Relief flooded him. Crucible hadn’t been kidding that he’d found the best, in such company he would be fine. That’s what the military was about after all, leaning on the person next to you.

The relief brought his command presence back. “All right,” Bookbinder said. “We’ll move out in a minute, I just need to check a couple of things. Who’s got the comms?”

Archer raised his hand, producing a handset from his backpack.