Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (31 page)

“Do a pulse check with the FOB,” Bookbinder said. “I guess you’re RTO for this run.” Archer nodded and began speaking into the handset in hushed tones.

Bookbinder tried to meet the eyes of each member of the team and did fine until he came to Vasuki-Kai.

After a moment, he picked one of the flurry of snake’s heads and figured that would have to do. “Remember,” he said, “if the comms pulses stop coming, the FOB will send out another team. Per my instructions, that team’s objective is
not
to locate or rescue us. That team’s objective is to reach the FOB Sarpakavu and secure assistance from the Naga Raja and the government of India. I want everyone to understand that. I’m not calling this a suicide mission. We’re too squared away for that. But it is a do–or–die mission, and I want that understood. I hate stupid bumper-sticker slogans like ‘failure is not an option.’ But this is one of the rare circumstances where it’s actually appropriate. Everybody clear?”

The entire team nodded concurrence with the exception of Vasuki-Kai, who hissed questions at Dhatri, who translated back in a low voice. Bookbinder recalled his last words to Crucible before boarding the helo out.
Even with the helo getting us partway,
it’ll take us the better part of a month to walk the rest of
the distance. You have to hold until then.

Crucible had nodded.
We’ll hold, sir.

“Okay,” Bookbinder said. “Remember your fire discipline. Only shoot at what you can hit, and don’t shoot unless you have no other option. Remember that Major Woon can Whisper if we run into hostile fauna. I’d rather have her violating the hell out of the McGauer-Linden Act than you wasting precious ammo.”

Archer, who had just returned the handset to his pack, raised a hand. “Pulse check is good, sir.”

“All right,” Bookbinder said, mostly to himself. “Anything else . . . anything else . . .”

“Water-decontamination tablets,” Archer said. “You want to distribute those now, sir? I’d feel better if they were spread across the team.”

“That’s right,” Bookbinder said. He produced three pieces of rebar from his cargo pocket, handing one to Archer and one to Sharp and keeping one for himself. “Here ya go.”

Sharp looked down at his palm in disbelief. “This is a piece of metal, sir.”

Bookbinder nodded. “It’ll do the trick. And unlike decontamination tablets, it doesn’t run out . . . I think.”

Sharp’s eyes narrowed, but Woon crowded closer. “I can . . . I think I can feel a current off it . . .”

“You can,” he agreed. “I’ve got tablets as backup, but those’ll work.”

“Are they magic, sir?”

Bookbinder tapped the side of his nose. “Call it experimental tech. I’m calling it a Bound Magical Energy Repository for now.”

“BMER . . .” Woon mused. “Boomer?”

Bookbinder nodded. “Boomer it is. Just sling the questions for now. They work. That’s what you need to know.”

Woon frowned, and Dhatri and Vasuki-Kai exchanged conversation in their own language, but Sharp and his men shrugged. “What else, sir?”

Bookbinder looked down at the breaching shotgun slung across his chest. “I’m not even qualified on this stupid thing.”

“You’re just humping it, sir,” Sharp said. “Not shooting it.”

“You can have the SAW if you want, sir,” Anan said, lifting the machine gun slung over his shoulder. It looked at least double the shotgun’s weight.

Bookbinder pursed his lips. “Hmm. I think I’ll hold what I’ve got.”Anan chuckled. “Suit yourself, sir. I’m just trying to provide options.”

“I appreciate it. Anybody have any questions?”

Nobody did.

“All right, let’s go.”

Within the first half hour, Bookbinder began to see Crucible’s wisdom in suggesting that he stay on the FOB. The rucksack and its straps were padded, and it was balanced as well as it could possibly be. The shotgun was cinched tight across his chest. His helmet, his body armor, his boots were all rigged tight. None of it mattered. The gear still jostled against him as he marched over the uneven terrain, occasionally stumbling as his foot found some hole that the tall grass had concealed.
Go ahead and roll
an ankle now, you jackass. That’s exactly what we need.
His high boots had supported his ankles thus far, and he stepped gingerly. Regardless, before long his helmet chafed the center of his forehead, his boots rubbed his shins raw. A knot formed over his spine right between his shoulder blades, and the straps of his pack felt like they were digging furrows in the insides of his arms. His breath came in labored puffs. Sweat soaked his helmet liner despite the cold.

“You okay, sir?” Sharp, moving so easily across the ground that he looked like he was floating in spite of his load, looked over at him.

Bookbinder glared back. “Fine . . .” he wheezed. “Fine, thanks. Just . . . don’t want you . . . to feel like I’m making you look bad.” If Sharp found it funny, he gave no sign.
You wanted
to lead this little camping trip. Now suck it up.
But, oh dear God.

The light runs he’d done all his life hadn’t prepared him for this.

The only other one who seemed to be having a hard time of it was Dhatri, but the Indian officer didn’t complain, his eyes eager, fixed ahead. Vasuki-Kai slithered along in the middle of the column, his many heads looking in all directions, towering over them. It somewhat made up for the fact that the naga, being royalty, refused to carry any gear at all, despite his large and powerful frame being capable of hauling more than any three of the humans combined.
Multicultural sensitivity,
Bookbinder thought.
Who’d have ever thought it would apply to other
species?

Bookbinder fell in alongside Fillion. The operator ignored him, eyes on the horizon, scanning for threats. Bookbinder appreciated his alertness, but Vasuki-Kai had all the angles covered, and there was clearly nothing around for miles. He figured now was as good a time as any to get to know his people. A leader should do that.

“Where you from?” he asked.

Fillion ignored him. He repeated the question, and the specialist finally turned as if noticing him for the first time.

“New York, sir.” He spoke so quietly that Bookbinder could barely hear.

Bookbinder nodded. “Right. The city?”

Fillion’s eyes had already gone back to the horizon. “No, sir.”

Bookbinder sighed and turned away. Anan was covering the column’s other flank with every bit as much intent silence, so Bookbinder gave up and fell in with Sharp again.

“Your boys are certainly dynamic conversationalists.”

“Don’t take it personal, sir. They’re just focused,” Sharp said.

“Focused,” Bookbinder replied.

“That’s why they call us the quiet professionals.”

“Well, they’ve got the quiet part down.”

“They just want to do their best for you, sir, and that means no distractions.”

“No distractions, right.” Bookbinder kept his peace and marched on.

They made good progress the first day. The only creatures they saw were a pack of what looked like horses, with shaggy-hyena-looking fur coats. They trotted toward the party, keening eerily, their eyeless snouts terminating in a single, sharp-looking tooth.

Anan sighted his SAW as they drew near. Bookbinder could feel Woon Drawing her magic in preparation to Whisper one of them. He hoped they wouldn’t have a fight on their hands already. “Hold your fire,” he said, waiting to see what the creatures’ intentions were. He drew his own pistol and took aim just in case.

“Hud yur feer. Hud yur feer . . .” one of the creatures began to croon, circling them. The crude impression of Bookbinder’s voice sent chills down his spine. Dhatri took a knee, aiming his carbine and whispering an oath in Hindi.

Vasuki-Kai hissed what sounded like exasperation, sank into his coiled tail, and sprang into the air. Bookbinder was shocked by how lightly and quickly the giant naga could move. He landed in the midst of the creatures, drawing six of the swords and knives he kept thrust into his sash and hissing a warning, puffing out his chest and shoulders, his heads lashing around him, snapping at the empty air.

The creatures howled, a few of them making shrieking imitations of Vasuki-Kai’s hissing before they scattered, tufted tails tucked between their legs as they raced away. The naga drew a bladed ring from his belt and cast it after one of them; it sliced through the creature’s tail before gracefully arcing back to one of his hands. The creature shrieked and put on speed, forming back up with the pack and making for the horizon.

Vasuki-Kai’s many heads scanned the horizon for threats before he returned his weapons to the sash at his waist. He nodded in satisfaction, slithering his way back to the group and hissing smugly to Dhatri.

“His Highness says that we do not have time to play with animals,” Dhatri translated. “He demands we continue along at once.”

By the time the Source’s big sun began to set, washing all in an intense, almost neon rippling of orange and bruised blue, Bookbinder could see the ground beginning to slope down toward a wide river. Beyond it, he could make out a stand of trees.

“What do you think?” he asked Sharp, as darkness began to cloak them.

“We’re making good time,” Sharp answered. “Night-vision equipment is good for short ops, but you don’t want to be hiking in it, and I don’t know what the big guy’s night eyes are like.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Vasuki-Kai, whose eyes had begun to glow a dull yellow in the failing light.

“All right, let’s make camp. I’d like to steer clear of that water until we know what’s in it.”

Woon conjured a small earthen hut while the rest of them grounded their gear and Bookbinder demonstrated his water-cleaning “boomer” to Sharp in a nearby half-frozen puddle.

Sharp shook his head in amazement but didn’t hesitate to drink the water out of his cupped hand. Dhatri and Vasuki-Kai watched with great interest, saying nothing.

“Tastes weird,” Sharp said. “Like you boiled the hell out of it.”

Bookbinder nodded. “It’s completely sterile. Naturally occurring water, even filtered stuff, has some contaminants in it. This is totally pure.”

Sharp shrugged and drank the rest of the water as Bookbinder turned back to the team.

“No campfire,” he ordered. “Let’s do MREs tonight and get some shut-eye. Up tomorrow as soon as the light allows. We’ll need to set a watch.” He lowered his pack to the ground, every muscle in his back and shoulders screaming at him.
You can
lead, but you can’t exceed your limitations.
“And I can’t do the first shift, sorry.”

Vasuki-Kai hissed something and Dhatri nodded, slinging his own pack to the ground and stretching gratefully. “His Highness says that watches will be unnecessary. You may all sleep, and he will keep an eye over the camp.”

“Doesn’t he need to sleep?” Bookbinder asked.

“He will sleep, sir. Naga do not close their eyes, even in sleeping. He will see an enemy coming while he rests.”

Sharp cocked an eyebrow. “Can he see in the dark?”

“Not exactly,” Dhatri replied. “He can see . . . he can see heat. Or he can taste it. It is very difficult to explain.” As if to underscore the point, several of Vasuki-Kai’s heads flicked out varicolored forked tongues, tasting the air before returning.

“Sir,” Sharp said under his breath. “Are you sure you trust this . . . uh, guy?”

Bookbinder paused a moment, considering the naga. The creature had been willing to reveal secrets precious to the Indian government to help him. “Yes, Sergeant. I do. Implicitly.”

That was good enough for Sharp. He shrugged, and his men joined him in stripping out of their gear, wordlessly coordinating their efforts with looks and nods. Within moments, they were disassembling their already immaculate weapons for another cleaning. Woon knelt in the grass beside the shelter, practicing her Whispering on small beetles, whom Bookbinder hadn’t noticed because their gray shells were perfectly camouflaged to look like pebbles. Within minutes, she had orderly groups of them trooping up the side of the hut and back down again. Bookbinder smiled and gave her a thumbs–up as she glanced over. She returned the smile with a nod. “Crime pays, sir.”

“No crime,” Bookbinder answered. “Exigent circumstances. Duly authorized by your CO. Carry on.”

Woon did, and Bookbinder wandered off, stripping off the wrapping of his MRE, his legs restless despite the grinding fatigue he felt. Before long, he found himself sucking on a pretzel stick, standing beside Vasuki-Kai.

The naga prince stood still as a statue, its tail coiled around Dhatri’s pack, heads fanned out in a near-perfect circle, illuminating the thickening darkness with its glowing eyes.

Bookbinder stared at the naga. Was he asleep? How could you even tell? The huge chest rose and fell evenly, but there was no sound of breathing at all though little clouds of warmer air puffed in and out of dozens of pairs of nostrils.

After a moment, one of the heads arced, turned sideways, and fixed him with a single yellow eye. It hissed briefly.

Dhatri’s voice sounded from behind him. “His Highness asks why you are staring at him.”

Bookbinder blinked. “Please apologize to His Highness. I was just trying to figure out if he was sleeping. With my people, you can always tell because our eyes are closed.”

The snake’s head hissed again. “His Highness is sleeping,” Dhatri said. “But if you have any questions, he will permit you to ask them.”

Bookbinder tried not to let his confusion show. He had many questions. For one thing, he hadn’t seen the naga eat. Wasn’t it hungry? “No, no questions. I’m sorry to have disturbed you . . . er . . . I’m sorry to have disturbed His Highness.”

Bookbinder turned to go, but the single head hissed again.

“His Highness asks why you chose to come on this mission.”

Bookbinder turned back to the head, struggling to overcome his instinct to address Dhatri directly. “Excuse me?”

“His Highness is merely returning home, and it is the custom of princes to be envoys. But he understands that among Americans, you send an . . . what is the word? An attaché. You are a commander. This is not your custom.”