Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (35 page)

“Thanks,” he managed. He realized that he could no longer see, and guessed his eyes had closed. He supposed that was all right. He couldn’t keep them open anyway.

When Bookbinder blinked awake, the sun was high in the sky. He sat up abruptly, the rest of the team already up and bustling around him.

Sharp knelt beside him. “Two problems, sir,” he said. “First is not so big, second is bigger, but pretty much expected.”

“Okay,” Bookbinder managed. His tongue felt like a dried sock in his mouth.

As if he could sense it, Sharp held out the feed line from his own backpack water bladder. He spoke as Bookbinder sucked on it. “First, we’ve lost a day. You slept for roughly ten hours, the rest of us slightly less.”

A jolt of adrenaline brought Bookbinder fully awake. He struggled not to choke on the water he was drinking.
We can’t
afford that. The FOB can’t afford it.
But he said, “I’m sure we all needed it.”

Sharp nodded. “Second problem is that we’ve got no comms with the FOB. No more radio pulse checks.” He gestured to Archer, who was tinkering with the SINCGARS with no apparent success. At last he stowed the handset in his rucksack and shook his head at Sharp.

“I’m no expert,” Archer said, “but I’d bet it’s something to do with the atmosphere over that burned patch we just crossed. Mucking up the signal.”

Dhatri was pensive. “Perhaps that’s why we were having trouble getting in touch with FOB Sarpakavu before.”

“Maybe we can radio the Indian FOB as we get closer,” Archer mused. “Although this thing is squirrelly as hell.” He slapped his rucksack and the equipment inside.

Bookbinder shrugged. “I doubt it matters now. Has everybody eaten already?”

Nods from everyone on the team.

“Drank too? Packed and ready to go?”

More nods, most of them sheepish.

Bookbinder stood. “Why the hell didn’t anyone wake me?”

“You looked, peaceful, sir,” Anan volunteered.

Bookbinder looked askance at Woon, but the major only shrugged. “You did.”

“What about him?” Bookbinder jerked his thumb at Vasuki-Kai.

“His Highness ate before we departed FOB Frontier,” Dhatri said. “Naga can go for very long periods on a single meal. He will be sustained until we reach the Naga Raajya.”

Bookbinder nodded and shouldered his pack, sucking at his own water feed now. “Surely you must eat, sir,” Dhatri said, his voice concerned.

“I can eat while we walk,” Bookbinder replied. “We’ve lost enough time to my cherubic sleepy-time appearance. Let’s move.”

The grass regained its health as they proceeded, the air gradually becoming clearer. By the time the sun began to set again, they felt refreshed by the simple act of inhaling clean air without the aid of a wet scarf. Bookbinder set his goggles up on his helmet, grateful for the lack of pressure around his eyes.

They even came across a stream in the morning where they could restock their water supplies with the aid of Bookbinder’s “boomer.” He noticed the enchanted rebar was beginning to lose its charge. The water came clean, but not as fully as before, some of the swirling particles still visible in it. He made a mental note that the magic didn’t last forever, pleased that he had brought conventional water decontamination tablets with them as backup.

Bookbinder spent most of the time replaying Fillion’s death.

Why did he let that man go down the rock face? He should have done it himself. He knew that Sharp and his men had the real combat experience, but he was still in charge. It should have been him drowned in that sea of ash.
That’s ridiculous,
he told himself.
You have to make it to FOB Sarpakavu to negotiate.

No one else in the team has the authority you do.
But he couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his mind; Fillion putting his boot on the ash, then disappearing beneath it.

“Down to our last MREs, sir,” Sharp noted, breaking him out of his reverie. “We’re going to have to hunt from now on.”

“That should be easy with Woon’s Whispering,” Bookbinder answered, but the thought didn’t make him any calmer. Even Whispering animals in to slaughter would take time, and they’d just spent three days crossing the ash field and sleeping off the exhaustion of the effort.

As the edges of the sky turned molten bronze, Sharp turned toward him. “You about ready to pack it in for the night, sir?”

“Let’s keep going,” Bookbinder said, “at least until it gets dark. I’m feeling pretty good.”

The others nodded and pushed on as darkness gathered around them.

After another half hour of walking, Bookbinder began to hear a creaking, clinking sound ahead of them. Sharp brought his carbine up, halted the team with a hand signal, and pushed off slowly into the gathering gloom, Anan and Archer falling wordlessly in beside him.

They hadn’t gone ten steps when a small group of goblins came out of the half-light, surrounding a wooden cart piled high with something bulging under a burlap cover, yoked to one of the shaggy beasts Bookbinder knew they herded back in their villages. They were clothed in leather frocks, with only one or two carrying weapons. Sharp and his men lowered their guns.

A few seconds later, the goblins noticed them and froze, drawing close around their cart. They stood in silence, staring.

Bookbinder figured the situation would best be defused quickly. He waved and smiled, muttered, “Cover me,” under his breath, and walked forward. “Hello there, friends!” he said. “I bet we’re the last people you expected to see out here.”

The goblins chattered to one another, relaxing a little.

Bookbinder stopped beyond spear range and waved again. “I don’t suppose any of you happens to speak . . . English?”

None of them did. They continued to stare, pressing closer to the wooden cart. One of them stepped forward. He was identical to the rest of them, save that his brown leather frock had a metal pectoral sewn into the center and he held a spear propped over one shoulder. He spoke to Bookbinder with a mild authority in his voice, gesturing to the wagon, then back the way the goblins had come. The team edged closer. At the sight of Vasuki-Kai, the goblins recoiled, the one with the spear hopping on top of the wagon.

Vasuki-Kai halted, hissing consolation. Archer trotted forward, and said, “Sir, if you’ll permit me.” He tapped his eyelids, bowing slightly from the waist. The goblins paused, shocked, before returning the gesture.

Archer then spoke to them in halting, broken goblin. The bigger goblin on top of the cart finally got off it, answering slowly and carefully, as if to a young child.

Archer finally nodded and turned back to Bookbinder.

“I didn’t know you spoke goblin,” Bookbinder said.

“I don’t, really. I just picked up a little from the contractors we had working in our vehicle park. These guys are traders. That wagon is full of goods for sale.”

Bookbinder arched his eyebrows. “Well, what have they got? I could go for some chow that isn’t bagged or Whispered to its death by the good major here.”

Archer pointed at the wagon, nodding.

“Hell, I could have done that,” Bookbinder said.

The goblin with the spear turned to a gnarled, smaller gob-lin. They talked for a moment before the smaller goblin nodded and gestured at the burlap covering the wagon. The goblin with the spear bowed, tapping his eyelids, then undid the cords, pulling the burlap back.

The wagon was piled high with goods; bolts of leather and woven cloth, bundles of some kind of pungent dried weed, strands of colored beads, stack upon stack of pelts. Bookbinder smiled as he stepped forward to inspect the wares.

Then he froze.

Scattered among the goblin-made goods were others that he recognized. A couple of pistol magazines, a gas-mask filter, a tattered helmet liner. Here was a small-arms field-reporting guide. There was a ruggedized, camouflaged copy of the Holy Bible.

Bookbinder felt Woon stiffen behind him and immediately raised a hand to her elbow. He smiled at the goblins, stroked his chin, and began turning over the goods in the cart, inspecting them. Woon started to speak, and he caught her eyes. “Not just now, Major.”

She looked angry, but nodded. “Sir.”

The goblins looked hopeful as Bookbinder made a great show of turning over a bundle of some dried spice, tied with a bit of colored yarn. He took another few minutes to peruse the trader’s wares before he stepped back, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing we need here, Sergeant Sharp. If you’d please send them on their way with our thanks.”

Sharp nodded to Archer, who spoke another burst of halting goblin. The traders frowned, gesturing to the cart and muttering, but Archer spoke again, and firmly.

Finally, one of the goblins stepped forward. Bookbinder’s hand dropped instinctively to his weapon, but they were only prodding the animal yoked to the cart, turning it around. It bleated plaintively at the change of direction. They trundled away from Bookbinder’s team. Bookbinder watched as the goblins faded into the gathering darkness, then finally let out his breath.

He stood in silence before he felt Sharp’s presence at his elbow. “They’re gone, sir. You okay?”

“You know what that was?” Bookbinder asked.

“I’ve got an idea, sir,” Sharp said.

“That was US military gear in that cart. I’d bet you a silver dollar it was pilfered off American corpses.

Sharp was silent for a moment. “Could be legitimately acquired. Maybe it was excessed from the FOB.”

“Do you really believe that, Sergeant?”

Sharp was silent again before answering, “No, sir. I don’t.”

“We should have said something,” Woon said. “I was going to—”

“I know,” Bookbinder cut her off, “and that’s why I stopped you. We don’t need to pick a fight out here in the middle of the wilderness for no reason, Major. Our mission is to get to FOB Sarpakavu, not to bring corpse-robbers to justice.”

“Could be they made the corpses in the first place, sir,” Woon added.

“And there’ll be a lot more corpses if we don’t reach the Indian FOB,” Bookbinder added. “Besides, if you wanted a fight, I think you’re going to get one. They’ve seen how few of us there are, noted our gear. If they trade in stolen US military goods, we’ll be far too tempting to pass up. If their village is anywhere nearby, I’d wager they’ll be back. You saw how they turned around and headed back the way they came after meeting us?”

Sharp nodded. “I did, sir.”

“I’d say we need to be extra alert tonight. I don’t doubt we can handle even a sizeable goblin force, what with His Highness’s help, eh? What do you think?”

Sharp didn’t hesitate. “We can do for them, sir, in far greater numbers than what we just saw.”

“Okay,” Bookbinder said. “Let’s risk moving on as long as we can tonight. I’d like to get as far from our original position as possible. When we finally bed down, we’re going to have to be extra careful.”

The dark came on fast, and they were only able to walk for a short distance before the gloom made the march treacherous, forcing them to set up camp. They ate in silence, casting worried eyes over their shoulders. Bookbinder imagined that every shifting shadow was an approaching goblin army, but after an hour, there was no sign of any enemy. Vasuki-Kai set his watch, assuring them he’d smell them a long way off. Bookbinder was uneasy anyway, but exhaustion won out in the end, and he drifted off to sleep curled around the shotgun’s stock, the plastic against his cheek comforting despite its hard, cold surface.

Bookbinder was awakened by the working of a carbine’s action and Vasuki-Kai’s hissing. He sat up, rubbing his face and fumbling with the shotgun. “Whassgoinon?” he asked of no one in particular.

“Vasuki-Kai smells something.” Sharp’s voice was urgent, hushed. “You were right, sir. They’re coming back. Just hang here, we’re going to flank them. Check your fire that way.” He pointed into the darkness.

Bookbinder nodded, slowly rocking to his knees and standing up.

“Sir,” Sharp said again. “I need you to remember that. If you fire to the east, you’re going to hit us.”

“I’ve got it,” Bookbinder said.

Sharp gestured to Anan and Archer, and they disappeared into the darkness.

Vasuki-Kai didn’t draw his weapons, but his hands danced across the many pommels. Dhatri and Woon cradled their carbines close, ready to raise them at a moment’s notice. Bookbinder felt Woon Drawing her magic about her.

A few moments later, he began to hear the tramping of many feet through the grass to their east. Goblins, attempting to be stealthy and failing miserably. By the sound of it, there were many more than they’d seen with the trading wagon.

Bookbinder’s muscles began to cramp with the effort of making himself sit still as the goblins approached. At long last, they abandoned stealth and charged, shouting a war cry as they rushed the camp. Vasuki-Kai spun, drawing his blades and Woon whipped her magic forward, Binding it to the earth around them.

Shots rang out, and the war cries turned to howls of agony.

Bookbinder could hear Anan’s SAW rumbling in the near distance.

Two goblins burst into the encampment and the earth rose to meet them, formed by Woon’s magic into yokes that seized their necks and slammed them down into the ground.

“Keep them alive!” Bookbinder shouted as he racked the shotgun’s action and bolted in the direction of the gunfire.
You
think you’re actually going to help out three hardened Special
Forces operators? Show some common sense!

He stopped at camp’s edge, warring with himself, and within moments heard the goblins racing through the tall grass away from them, giving up the fight. The operators’ guns spoke some more, a shot here and there, but it was clear that the ambush had broken the goblins’ nerve. Bookbinder stood and waited until they stopped firing, and an eerie silence crept over the camp, with only a few wisps of lingering gun smoke to indicate there had been anything amiss, until they, too, were swallowed by the darkness.

“Sir.” Sharp’s voice made Bookbinder jump. The man had crept up next to him. “They’re routed.”

Sharp’s tone was morose, his eyes looked big. “What happened?”