Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (46 page)

Britton hesitated, staring.

The elevator chimed down the hallway’s length.

“Thirty seconds, Oscar.” Thorsson said. “I’m not Suppressing you. If you want to run, I won’t stop you. But there’re a lot of soldiers who will die if you don’t help.”

Britton nodded, and a gate slid open behind Bookbinder. The colonel spun and gasped.

“Go!” Thorsson said, pushing the man through, then gesturing to Britton to follow along with his father.

The elevator chimed again, the doors sliding open. Thorsson saw men with guns begin to pour into the hallway as he stepped through the gate himself, gesturing to Britton to shut it behind them.

They stumbled into a clearing at the center of what looked like the set from a Renaissance faire. The clearing was dotted with earthen huts and surrounded by hand-built structures, rammed earth for the most part, with thatched roofs. Packed-dirt paths intersected them, dotted with herb gardens. A low wooden palisade wall was visible in the distance. A pool of clear water snaked its way across one side of the clearing, and a large central fire pit dominated the middle.

All around them, goblins were stopping in stunned amazement, leaping backward from the gate suddenly standing in their midst. A few leveled spears, the majority simply stood, openmouthed.

A few of them took off running, shouting and waving their arms.

Britton closed the gate and opened it again, this time on the bowl of rose moss in the Vermont forest where he’d hidden before. “Be ready to move,” he said. “I’m not sure what kind of welcome we can expect.”

The goblins began to chatter at him, clustering forward.

Thorsson saw one white-painted sorcerer among them, felt the eddying of magical currents farther out, but none moved to Suppress them. The faces around them were open.

“Oscar,” Thorsson said. “What the hell did you take us here for? We don’t have time to—”

Britton cut him off with a wave of his hand. He gently laid his father on the ground. “He needs help, and he needs it now. I’m not doing a damn thing for you until he gets it.”

A moment later, a large cluster of goblins arrived and began pushing their way to the front of the throng of the creatures that was gathering around them. Several warriors mounted on wolves led them, waving scavenged carbines or spears to clear the onlookers out of the way. Behind them, Thorsson could see the white-painted heads of a group of their sorcerers. In the midst of them was a solitary figure, his dotted scalp marking him as their
Hepta-Bak
, their prince and leader.

Thorsson Drew his magic and took a step back, letting lightning sizzle along his clenched fists.

Bookbinder marked the move. “Should we be worried here?”

“We’ll know in about three seconds,” Britton said, moving closer to the gate. “Just be ready to move through there if . . .”

And then his face melted into a smile.

The crowd parted, revealing the goblin contractor that Thorsson knew used to drink with Shadow Coven in the Cash. The tiny creature looked positively regal now, wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and carrying a short spear. His head and face were covered with patterns of swirling white dots.

“Marty!” Britton shouted. “Man, it’s good to see you.”

The goblin smiled and came forward. “Uskar,” he said. “I think you die.”

“So did I,” came a woman’s voice. The Physiomancer Therese Del Aqua stood at the goblin’s side. Her hair had been combed into haphazard braids adorned with leather thongs that suspended feathers and beads. She wore a leather dress in goblin fashion. Beside her came that damned Swift, the head of the No–No Crew. He saw the last remnant of Shadow Coven, Simon Truelove. One side of the Necromancer’s body was painted white, and he was robed in leather sewn with bronze discs like an indig.

Therese started forward, arms outstretched. “We thought you were dead, Oscar. We thought we were trapped here, and you were dead.”

Britton permitted her the briefest embrace. He spoke quickly, pushing through a throat choked with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again, either.” He pushed away from her with an effort. “But I need your help. This is my dad. He’s hurt bad, please.”

Therese leaned over Stanley, Thorsson could feel her magic Drawing hard, Binding into the wounds. Truelove came along beside her, grabbing Britton’s hand and pumping it, grinning like a fool, speaking so quickly that Thorsson could barely follow him. “I can’t believe you’re alive! Marty took us in. There was some trouble at first, but he handled it. We thought we were stuck here forever.” He paused. “Where’s Sarah? What happened to her?”

Britton sighed. “I’m sorry, Simon. She stayed. It was her call, and she made it.”

She’s detained, being questioned. Even I couldn’t get to see
her,
Thorsson thought.
They didn’t trust her, either.

Swift smiled at the sight of Britton. Then his eyes swept over Harlequin, and he snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Thorsson remembered their last encounter and Suppressed his flow, drawing his pistol and sighting down it at the Aeromancer’s scarred forehead. “Don’t,” he said. “There’s no fucking time.”

The goblins raced to Swift’s side, leveling spears and shouting at Thorsson.

“Everyone settle down!” Bookbinder called out. “I’m Colonel Alan Bookbinder, commander of FOB Frontier. We need your help.”

Stanley was sitting up, patting Therese’s hand, thanking her in a brittle voice.

“It’s okay,” Britton said. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but these men just broke me out of prison. How the hell did you find my father? Dad, I thought . . . I thought you were dead.”

“Later,” Bookbinder said. “The FOB is completely cut off. We’re late to get help to them as it is. All those people are going to die when it’s overrun. There’s only one way to get them out of there, and I’m afraid you’re it. We can deal with everything once they’re safe, but we need to do something now. Like, right now.”

Britton cursed, turning in a tight circle, hands on his hips.

“Come on, Oscar!” Stanley called to him, also standing.

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk,” Britton yelled back at him, tears in his eyes. “After everything, you show up at my cell door needing help? And now you want me to work for the army again?”

“We’ve got some talking to do,” Stanley said, “but there’s no time for it now. For now you need to know that the reason we never got along is that I taught you too damned well. You knew how to make the right call even when I forgot.

“Well, you know what the right call is here. You have to help them, Oscar. No son of mine would turn his back on so many people in need, no matter what they’d done to him. The army may have turned you out, but you’re still an officer in your bones. The Brittons have been officers for five generations. That never changes no matter what the army says.”

Oscar Britton swallowed and looked away. “No time, Oscar,” Harlequin said. “We need to go right now. Take us to the FOB.”

Britton hesitated. Stanley put his hands on his hips. “Damn it, Oscar! I didn’t just spend I don’t know how long clawing a life out of this fucking wilderness to come back here and watch you walk out on your countrymen! Now you cowboy up and do the right thing!”

Britton looked from his father to Thorsson and shook his head. “Looks like Dudley Do–Right went rogue. How does it feel to be a fugitive from your government, Harlequin?”

“I’m doing the right thing,” Thorsson answered, “so I’d say it feels just fine. I’m guessing you felt the same way when you got out of the FOB.”

Britton nodded. “I did.”

“Well, we’ll talk about that. But for now, we need to get to that FOB.”

“We’re not finished!” Swift shouted, stepping around the earthen wall. “We’ve got business!”

“No, you don’t,” Britton shouted at him. “Right now, the only business is saving that base.”

He turned toward Swift again but was intercepted by Therese, who dragged him into another embrace, clutching him tightly.

“Oh, God, Oscar. I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, and I wasn’t going to get a chance to . . .”

Britton allowed himself to bury his face in her hair for a moment. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. We’ll . . . we’ll . . .”

An obvious cough from Bookbinder brought him back to himself. He stepped away from her with a will. “Later,” he said.

It’s always later.

“Can you convince some of these indig to help?” Bookbinder asked.

“Let’s see what we’re up against first.” Britton said, opening a gate. “We’ll have to head back to the Home Plane first. These things only work between worlds.”

“Fuck you.” Swift took a tentative step forward, then checked himself as Thorsson raised his pistol again. “We’re not helping you.”

“I am,” Therese said.

“Thank you,” Bookbinder breathed.

Britton shook his head. “I’ve dragged you around enough. I thought I’d lost you all back there in New York. I’m not gating you into a potential war zone without a look-see first. Stay here. I’ll be back when I know what the story is.”

“I’ll talk to Marty,” Therese said. “I’ll tell them to be ready if you need us.”

“Will they help?” Bookbinder asked.

Therese nodded. “It’s their religion. They have a commandment to keep you safe. They’re already skirmishing with the
Prendehad
Defender clans on a daily basis.”

Bookbinder looked incredulous.

“She’s right,” Truelove said. “I’ve been learning about their religion. They don’t get many Necromancers out here, so . . .”

Britton silenced him with a wave. “You can tell me after. For now, let’s go. Everybody stays here. Dad, you too.”

Stanley Britton laughed over the chorus of protests. “The hell I will. I’ve been fighting to get back to you for months. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we put paid to this mess and go find your mother.”

Britton shook his head. “No, Dad. Christ, I thought I’d killed you once. I’m not going through that again. I promise you, we’ll be back. Just sit tight. Can you just listen to me this once?”

Stanley made to argue, but Thorsson waved him down. “No time, damn it!”

Swift’s eyes never left Harlequin, but he stayed put as Britton rolled open another gate, stepped through, and looked around. “Okay,” he said. “It’s clear. Follow me through, and we’ll gate to the FOB from there.”

“Be ready,” Bookbinder cautioned them. “We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

The FOB’s main plaza was unrecognizable. The MWR and DFAC tents were gone, the entire space given over to a vast Terramantic garden. Rows of fat fruits and vegetables trotted out in all directions, basking in magically warmed air. Bookbinder counted at least five cisterns bubbling freshwater in just the first sweep of his eyes across the ground before him.

Gunfire rattled faintly in the distance, followed by the crackle-boom of magical lightning. Bookbinder didn’t hear any air traffic, which was unusual when the enemy was on them.

They must be running seriously low on fuel. Or aircraft.
A few soldiers gaped as they stepped through the gate, first raising weapons, then lowering them at the sight of Bookbinder.

“Sir!” said an air force tech sergeant, trotting toward them.

Bookbinder’s gut twisted at the man’s appearance. He was unshaven, sunken-eyed, and filthy. “We thought that . . .”

Bookbinder stopped him with a wave. “I’m fine. We’re bringing help. What’s the SITREP?”

“We’re in a bad way, sir. Pretty much out of ammo and medical supplies. We ran out of food ages ago.” He gestured at the gardens around them. “We just regrew this last night. They burn it up pretty much every time they come. It’s touch-and–go, sir.”

“Sounds pretty quiet.”

“They’re just getting warmed up, sir. It’ll pick up as the day wears on.”

“Casualties?”

The tech sergeant shook his head. “I couldn’t say for sure, sir, but it’s a lot. Maybe 20 percent. They make it past the perimeter most nights now.”

Bookbinder tried not to let his horror show on his face. He kept his voice even. “Where’s Crucible?”

“Should be in his office, sir. He usually doesn’t head out to the perimeter until after chow.”

“All right, as you were. Don’t spread the word about us, please. I want everyone’s head in the fight until we can execute a plan. But we will get you out of here, you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bookbinder gestured to Britton, his father, and Harlequin, and they made their way toward the camp commandant’s office.

“That kid won’t keep his mouth shut,” Bookbinder groused. “Everyone is going to know we’re here by the time we get to Crucible. But at least the FOB’s still here.”

Britton looked around. “I never thought I’d see this place again.”

“We’re only here long enough to get everyone out safe,” Bookbinder said. “Then you’ll never have to look at it again.”

Crucible was rushing out the door toward them before they’d turned onto the muddy, potholed track that led to his office.

Someone must have radioed ahead as Bookbinder predicted.

Carmela was at his side, her office clothing replaced by boots, cargo pants, and military parka.

“Holy shit, sir.” Crucible choked on his words. “God
damn
but it is good to see you. We all thought you were dead.” He slammed to attention and saluted.