Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (39 page)

When they were all cleaned and had drunk their fill, they lay on their bedrolls, waiting. Before long, Bookbinder fell asleep despite the hard surface of the stone beneath him and the nearness of the many snakes.

Woon sprawled against one of the stone slabs, snoring with her mouth open. An enormous black snake had crawled into her lap and lay half-draped across her pack beside her. Bookbinder shuddered to think what Woon would do if she awoke to find it there. He rose to his knees and slid toward her, reaching for the animal.

Dozens of the naga guards’ heads followed his movements, tongues rapidly flickering through the air.

Bookbinder sighed and backed off. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if he handled one of the snakes. Maybe they would. Best not to risk it. Woon was an air force officer. She’d have to find a way to deal with it.

They lay, resting and waiting, until darkness began to fall.

Archer and Sharp rested at the other end of the pavilion, keeping their own counsel. Woon was thankfully snake-free when she finally awoke and joined Stanley and Bookbinder. “Guessing we’re going to be here a while, huh, sir?”

“Guess so,” he said.

“Anybody got a deck of cards?”

Nobody did.

Shortly afterward, two Indians approached, accompanied by a naga guard. They brought two large woven baskets full of food. The first appeared to be a rifleman, his uniform marked with a single chevron, but the second was an officer, wearing epaulets marked with two golden suns. The naga parted to let them pass, and they set the baskets on the pavilion’s stone floor.

Bookbinder stood and returned the officer’s salute, eyeing the baskets hungrily. They were piled with piles of flat, fresh-baked bread, dishes full of creamed vegetables and thick sauces, skewers of savory meat. His mouth began to water from the smell.

The officer said. “I am hoping you will enjoy this food. You are well?”

“We’re all fine, thanks, and I’m sure we will.” He spoke quickly as the officer turned to go, hurrying. “We’ve been sitting here all day. We really need to get moving. We need to speak to . . .”
The Naga Raja? Wasn’t he a king?
“. . . um, whoever is in charge. Your commander. We have a crisis back at our base. That’s why we came here.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, patient. It proved very difficult.

The officer froze. “I am asking you to please be patient. We are . . . having talks. Please enjoy the food.” He motioned to his man, and they hurried away, their naga escorts keeping up easily.

Two hours later, as full darkness began to cloak the pavilion, Bookbinder found himself pacing the perimeter. He’d made two more attempts to leave the immediate area, both rebuffed by the naga guards that surrounded them. He heard sounds of human activity from all around the palace compound, and even shouts, laughter, and barked orders from the Indian human encampment on the other side of the ring wall. Once, he heard the throaty rhythmic thumping of helicopter rotors.

This was getting ridiculous. He turned to one of the naga guards. “We have got to get moving! My people are in trouble. They need our help. We can’t just sit here while you negotiate! We need help, now!”

The only indicator that it heard was a slight shifting of the few heads that regarded him. Sharp touched his elbow. “Sir, don’t make yourself crazy. These guys are going to move at their own pace. I ran with the Yemenis for a while, and it was like this. No sense in pushing it. It won’t help, and you’ll just piss them off.”

Bookbinder swallowed his anger with some difficulty.
Sharp
lost two men on your watch. He’s never said a word about it to
you. Show him a little fucking patience.

“All right,” Bookbinder said, biting down on the words. “But, damn it! Every second counts here! We wait too long and the post gets overrun and then what the fuck did we come here for in the first place?”
What did your men die for?
Bookbinder tamped down on his magic with a will and steadied his shaking hands.

Sharp only looked at him calmly. “I get it, sir. But this isn’t something we can do anything about right now. You just have to chill.”

Bookbinder sighed. “You’re right. So how the hell did you deal with the Yemenis?”

Sharp shrugged. “We waited. We waited until they were good and ready.”

But two days later, the Naga Raja was still neither good nor ready. Apart from the regular deliveries of food, the Americans remained confined to the pavilion and the short strip of ground around it that led to the fountain on one end and a latrine pit on the other, behind an intricately carved wooden screen.

They were easily the longest two days of Bookbinder’s life.

The Americans did their best to occupy themselves. Sharp led them in rounds of push-ups and sit-ups, under the amused eyes of the naga. They chatted about home and played word games.

Each time food was delivered, Bookbinder demanded that the officer send word to his commander that they had to get moving.

After the second time, the officer stopped coming, and two troopers, neither speaking a word of English, only stared blankly at Bookbinder’s demands.

As night fell after the second day, Bookbinder rounded up his team. “We can’t sit like this. We have got to get out of here.”

He whispered, looking over his shoulder at the Naga. Even if they could hear them, could they understand?

Sharp was silent. Stanley nodded. “We can’t do that, sir,” Woon said. “If we just wait a little . . .”

“We don’t have time! What if they want us to wait a week? Two weeks? A month? The FOB could have fallen by then! We’re already well past the window I told Crucible we would take. He’s probably given up on us already!”

“Sir.” It was Sharp.

“What?”

“Sir, could I have a word?” Sharp’s voice was hard. He jerked his head in the direction of the fountain.

Bookbinder met the eyes of the rest of his team, saw the concern there. He felt his throat, slightly raw. Had he been yelling?

“Come on, sir.” Sharp stood.

They walked over to the fountain. Light from the Source’s huge moon had begun to cast a soft glow over the playing waters, the trickle of which masked their conversation from those still seated in the pavilion.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” Bookbinder asked, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.

Sharp wasn’t buying it. “Sir, I know you’re taking the guys we lost hard. You have to remember that they signed up for this. They knew what was coming. That’s just how it is.”

Bookbinder looked at him. “What are you going on about? We’ve got a FOB to save! That’s why we came here!”

Sharp put his hand on Bookbinder’s shoulder. “Sir, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. They knew what they were doing. We made it. We’re here. We don’t want to screw that up now. Not after we’ve come so far.”

Bookbinder opened his mouth to refute him and found he had nothing to say.

Sharp’s voice was soft. “I’m proud to follow you, sir. But you have to keep in mind that you’re in charge here. If you try to arrange some kind of jailbreak because you’re feeling bad about the guys getting zapped, well . . . that’s going to cause trouble isn’t it? For all of us. The FOB will keep a few days, sir. We just need to sit tight and keep it together is all.”

Bookbinder was silent. His throat clenched with humiliation and grief.

Sharp touched his shoulder again. “Those guys didn’t die in vain, sir. They really didn’t. We just need to keep it together. Do you think you can do that?”

Bookbinder found his voice. “Yes.”

Footsteps sounded on the courtyard beyond. Bookbinder and Sharp turned to see Dhatri approaching. At his side was a tall, regal-looking older man. His khaki uniform was immaculately pressed and covered with ribbons. Red facings adorned his lapels. His black beret bore a gold wreath around a sun. His epaulets were a gaudy design of three gold suns surmounted by an equal number of lions. His immaculately trimmed moustache twitched disdain. Vasuki-Kai stood behind them, nodding greeting as the Naga guards prostrated themselves.

Dhatri saluted and gestured to the man beside him. “May I present Brigadier Hazarika, who commands our presence here at FOB Sarpakavu.”

Bookbinder did the mental rank comparison and saluted smartly. “Sir, a pleasure to meet you.”

Brigadier Hazarika returned Bookbinder’s salute but said nothing. Vasuki-Kai however, hissed something from behind him.

Dhatri translated dutifully. “His Lordship Raja Ajathashatru the Fifth, Great King of the World, Uniter of the Spheres, summons you to appear before him.”

Bookbinder and Sharp exchanged glances. The wait was over. They were to see the Naga Raja after all.

Bookbinder asked Stanley Britton to stay behind with Archer and Sharp. The Naga had given every indication of being rank-conscious, and this was an official embassy, so he thought it best to bring only senior officers. He silently thanked his luck that Woon was a major.

They proceeded through the courtyard beyond the pavilion, passing around the thickness of the tower and into the main plaza. Bookbinder caught his breath at the opulence. A long reflecting pool, broken by several fountains, spanned the plaza, which was at least a hundred feet long. The white stone expanse was ringed by domed buildings, also of white stone, their surfaces expertly carved in interlocking images of serpents, humans, men with the heads and wings of birds. Bookbinder spotted at least one agni danav, lying on its back, a naga triumphantly astride it, thrusting a sword through its chest. The vanity of the royal naga was underscored by the scattering of giant, man-sized gold-framed mirrors that hung on the inside of the plaza walls, lining the entire courtyard all the way from the ring wall’s entrance to the main gates of each building.

Vasuki-Kai led the way, the humans behind him, a double line of naga guards falling in on either side. Clusters of naga, all of Vasuki-Kai’s greater size and coloration, stood at the entrance to what Bookbinder assumed was the palace.

The building dwarfed all the rest, a massive central dome ringed by eight smaller towers, too narrow and delicate to be anything other than decorative. A brass finial at the top of the dome depicted a coiled, multiheaded snake, basking in a burning sun. The walls of the structure were pierced with such skill that they had become stone latticeworks, dappling all with the patterned firelight that flowed from inside. The huge iron gates were open, revealing a massive promenade that stretched out into the distance, lit on either side by giant, black, iron braziers, burning scented oils. The same jeweled insects that Bookbinder had seen over the river they’d crossed earlier cavorted above the promenade, drawn to it by bowls filled with a thick, sweet-smelling liquid that stood on white stone pedestals interspersed among the braziers.

The ground was, of course, carpeted with snakes. Bookbinder caught his breath at the beauty of it all but didn’t forget to chuck Woon’s elbow. “Don’t step on ’em, for the love of God.”

She rolled her eyes as they advanced into the promenade.

After a few steps, a magnificent dais hove into view. A white stone fan spread behind it, carved in the likeness of a naga reclining. A grooved slab, much like the ones in the pavilion, stood before the stone fan, flanked by naga guards of princely rank judging by their size and coloration. They bore no weapons, but Britton could feel strong magical currents off them even from far away.

In the center of it all, reclining on the grooved slab, was the creature that Bookbinder guessed had to be the Naga Raja, Ajathashatru the Fifth.

The Great King was a monster. He lacked even the nods to humanity that the other naga showed. He was all serpent; gigantic, his coiled length as thick around as a tree. His scales, each the size of a dinner plate, blazed in a rainbow of colors so dazzling that Bookbinder had to squint to look at him. His coils stacked, length upon tree-trunk length, raising his neck at least twenty feet in the air to where it blossomed into a forest of snake’s heads more than double what Bookbinder had seen on any other naga. Each one was the size of large man’s head, each wearing a silver crown that dripped with glittering jewels.

At their approach, the Naga Raja reared to his full height, the heads stretching out in a fan that spread at least eight feet at its ends, and hissed a greeting that echoed the length of the promenade.

Vasuki-Kai, Brigadier Hazarika, everyone in the room went down on their bellies. After an instant’s hesitation, Bookbinder tugged on Woon’s sleeve, and they imitated them, knocking their foreheads on the floor. Bookbinder’s gut rebelled at the gesture. He was an American, his forefathers had fought a revolution to end customs just like this. But there was no America in the Source. There had been no revolution here. New world.

New rules.

When at last they rose, Ajathashatru hissed again in an echoing bass that rattled Bookbinder’s teeth. Brigadier Hazarika translated in English nearly as good as Dhatri’s. “His Royal Majesty welcomes you to his Raajya and says that his loyal
amatyan
Abhijit Vasuki-Kai has spoken highly of you and your people. He says you have been kind to his wards and children.” At this the king inclined a few of his heads toward Dhatri and Hazarika.

“His Royal Majesty welcomes this and is pleased to note that you are learning civilization. It was ever his wish that his
amatyan
’s tenure among you should teach you this. It pleases him to see it is so.”