Night's Pawn (35 page)

Then he saw them clearly. Small infrared signals, probably no bigger than his palm, but large enough to be seen from above. The company's Fourth Platoon had been infiltrated into the area the day before by conventional means. They'd crossed the border with fake passports, and had moved into the area earlier to isolate it. A small bridge had been demolished, and flares and barricades set up to block the road. The only other road in was to have been blocked by a delivery truck that had lost control on the slick road and rolled onto its side. The truck was to be abandoned there, with no license plates, leaving the local authorities with a slow and sorry mess to deal with once it was found.

Isolating the area was only a precaution, for traffic in this part of the countryside was highly unlikely at the time of the night for which the raid was scheduled. Still, the mission's planners had wisely chosen to play it very safe. There was always the danger of local authorities getting involved once the shooting broke out, and any actions that could delay their arrival at the site were necessary.

Chase knew little of the actual plan, because its creators had decided to keep him uninformed. He'd almost been barred from the mission, despite the fact that he'd been the one to give them the information—quietly, via Fuchi—that permitted it. It was only in the last few hours that word had come down from higher up the military chain that he be allowed to take part. They'd even temporarily restored his old rank to get around the rule that civilians were forbidden to participate in special military operations.

Chase wondered about that, too. Was it an offering, part of a bid to bring him back into the fold? Or had it simply been decided that "accidents" were easier to arrange in combat. He just didn't know.

Falling, he focused on the infrared signals. Some member of Fourth Platoon had placed them in the middle of the small fields that surrounded their target. A single infrared light, invisible except to thermographic systems, indicated the landing and eventual pickup point for First Platoon. Two lights for the second platoon, and so on.

The transport and the deployment systems had functioned perfectly, putting him and the rest of the platoon almost directly over their landing zone. Chase could barely make out the others falling below him, even with his thermographic vision: one component of their combat suits dampened and absorbed their body heat. It made them harder for Chase to see, but it also made it harder for an enemy using similar vision systems to spot them.

Shapes blossomed between Chase and the ground as the parachutes began to open. He watched the display on his own visor, and when the solid red box appeared, he pulled the cord to open his.

The abrupt change in velocity as the chute deployed was what he'd expected, and remembered. It was fully open within seconds, and his descent to the ground slowed to a much more survivable rate. He glanced up to confirm its deployment as best he could in the darkness. Everything looked fine. Seeing the control cables and handles where they should be, he reached up to grab them.

His chute was actually a paraglider, steerable within reason to allow for a more controlled landing. Chase needed to make only a slight adjustment to his course as he came in on the single light.

At the last moment, he shifted to the right as the ground detail became clearer and he saw the rough shape of what could have been a collapsed chute directly below him. Fearful of landing on top of another of the platoon members, he twisted and landed off-balance, hitting hard. Bulky as the combat suit was, Chase was thankful for the protection of its body armor as he hit, having had little time to prepare. He felt the breath rush out of him, and then the slight drag of the chute as it began to collapse and pull him along the ground. He dug in as best he could, and with no real wind to fill the chute, it collapsed completely.

Chase scrambled to his feet as ground commands began echoing in his ears from the helmet radio. All three platoons were down, with only a few minor injuries. The four men who'd been injured were being redeployed to secure the landing zones for their pickup. The rest of the platoons were being quickly restructured to make up for their absence. Chase was amazed at this display of high-level training that permitted the troops to adapt so quickly. His own former platoon members, good as they'd been, would never have been able to handle a rotation of members in the field.

"Apache Three, this is Apache Two. Do you read?" It was Sergeant Demchenko's voice coming over Chase's radio. Chase was Apache Three, the third "commanding" officer in A platoon. The other platoons were coded "Bandit" and "Cobra," and within each of those, the squads were referred to as "Alpha."

"Bravo," and "Delta."

Chase acknowledged the sergeant's call. "Roger Apache Two, I read."

"Apache Three, activate your tac unit, please."

Chase cursed, reached down, and activated one of the systems at his belt. He could, if he wished, call up a tactical display of the area as best as they knew it, which would also show the positions of all the members of the company. Each man emitted a low-powered scrambled and coded tactical signal that could be read by the others in the company. Its use was limited by the environment, obstructions, and interference, but the tactical benefits were enormous. It also allowed squad, platoon, and even company commanders to keep separate track of each of their unit's members.

"Roger, Apache Two. Unit on."

"Thank you, Apache Three. Nice of you to join us."

"Roger that, Apache Two."

The platoon commander's voice cut in. Because Chase was technically attached to Sergeant Demchenko, he was on the command channel, the one reserved for communications between platoon and squad commanders. "Units advance to waypoint one," Grachev said.

While calling up the tactical map, Chase listened to the individual squad leaders acknowledge. There was enough obvious movement around him that he could have followed any of the other platoon members, but he wanted to see bearing and distance for himself. As the image assembled itself on the inside of his visor, he heard someone approach from the rear. Chase tilted his head as Demchenko clasped his shoulder with one hand.

The sergeant pointed off to the left. "This way," he said. Chase couldn't see the other man's expression behind his face gear, but he could sense a big grin.

"I know," Chase told him. "I was just checking the progress of the other squads."

Demchenko grabbed at one of the straps on Chase's gear harness. "Don't worry, they're where they're supposed to be. Let's do the same, eh?"

Chase laughed, and the two men took off at a quick jog for the first waypoint.

34

An unknown voice spoke in Chase's ear. "Confirm two guards; one in front, one in back. Both armed. Light automatic weapons. No evidence of body armor, no evidence of personal magic."

Chase glanced to his left. Each of the platoons had a single magician, a hermetic mage, and the one in Apache was crouched a few meters away. As the recon report came over the radio, the mage nodded. Chase knew the man's name was Kunayev, but nothing else beyond the fact that when he moved his head it was always at a strange tilt. He was garbed and armed identically to the other squad members to prevent enemy snipers from selectively picking off the magician. He was also bearing the magical tactical support load, in addition to the mage from Cobra platoon. The Bandit mage was running recon along with the rest of Bandit.

Chase was surprised that they had only three magicians along, considering that Der Nachtmachen was known to have magically active members. More to the point, though, was the fact that the policlub apparently had the backing of the great dragon Alamais. That, in and of itself, was reason enough to bring along extensive support. When Chase had pointed that out during mission planning, they'd told him that magical support would be present, but that they had other means for dealing with a dragon.

He shifted the vision magnification gear on his helmet into place, then glanced at the estate nearly a kilometer away. It wasn't large by the standards of other chalets in the area, but it was imposing. Fuchi intelligence estimated that it possessed about thirty rooms, but intel had been unable to dig up any further floor plan data before the raid commenced. Chase could see many windows lit up, especially on the second floor, and noted the presence of a number of ground vehicles at the rear of the building—the side facing them. He could also see a single guard, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, pacing back and forth. A cigarette dangled from his mouth and a submachine gun from a shoulder sling.

The unknown voice spoke again in his ear. Chase knew that the reports were being routed to all circuits to save time and pass-along errors. "Limited magical recon of the site completed. Report no evidence of paranatural security patrol. Main building is fully protected by a high-powered ward that prevents penetration."

The Apache mage was crouched next to platoon commander Grachev. Chase could barely make them out. "I'm a little surprised," the mage said. "I'd have expected something."

The senior lieutenant nodded. "Perhaps they think they don't need any?"

The mage shrugged.

Grachev tilted his head as he received his own orders. A moment later, Chase heard him over the radio. "Apache One. Everyone stand by." Demchenko shuffled over next to Chase, not bothering to push aside the brush between them. Chase nodded at him, and received a short salute in return.

Grachev's voice returned. "Bandit will secure the immediate area, Apache and Cobra will lead the assault. Apache heads straight in while Cobra backs them up. As per the plan, gentlemen. Any questions?"

If there were any, Chase couldn't hear them.

"Apache, move out!" Grachev said.

Chase and Demchenko would be among the last in, but just before Cobra, whose members would move in and secure the positions the previous unit had just vacated. Two squads each of Apache and Cobra were positioned around the front of the chalet, and would be advancing from that direction. The one remaining squad from each platoon, with Chase and the senior Apache sergeant, would be entering from the rear. Bandit, in addition to securing the area, would be covering their immediate approach.

They advanced steadily but cautiously through a thin stretch of woods to the southwest of the building. Their progress was so silent that Chase was almost certain the Apache mage traveling with the group was using his magic to achieve the silent movement. The Cobra mage was with the squads at the front of the building.

When they reached the edge of the trees, some twenty meters from the building, they stopped, waiting for the final signal.

Then Chase saw the guard at the rear of the house pull a small microphone or radio from his belt, apparently to report in. The moment he was done and the radio safely back at his belt, he was hit by a single, silenced high-velocity round. It came right on target, and his head exploded. The suddenness of it startled Chase as he watched the man's head snap back and his body crumple immediately after it.

The squad moved in, advancing in two ranks toward the rear of the building.

Then explosions began to blow out the windows, as Bandit fired concussion and shock grenades through them, the flashes lighting up the ground around the building. Chase imagined that the Bandit mage was also making some kind of mystical assault on the magical ward that protected the building, to keep anyone monitoring those defenses busy.

The two squads rushed on, reaching the edge of the building. He heard gunfire from the front and a scream from somewhere in that direction as the lead men reached the rear door. They deployed around it while two squad members examined the lock and the door frame for booby traps. They found nothing, except that the door was locked. A small, shaped-charge explosive took care of that.

Two other squad members opened fire, their thermo-graphic gun sights cutting through the smoke from the door explosion. From his position, Chase could not see into the building, but the hand signs from the two gunners indicated that they'd hit two enemies who'd been waiting in ambush beyond the door. Then the squad began to enter.

They moved through the foyer and began working their way into the house. Chase heard more gunfire from ahead of them. Demchenko's voice came over the radio. "Most of them seem to be up front. We're going to—"

The rest of his words were lost in the sounds of the surrounding walls rupturing, burst by waves of cyan energy that rippled and then arced around them. Chase was knocked backward by the blast, landing sprawled on top of a now-broken table. A large framed painting fell from the cracked wall and shattered all over him. Magic, thought Chase, and of a scale and type he'd never seen before.