Task Force (26 page)

He kicked the bike into gear.

“I think she would have wanted you to know that,” Barnard said.

“Price is tough son of britches.” Monster pointed backward with a thumb. “Is not dead yet.”

A voice came from the back of the bike. “Yes, I bloody am.”

THE ANGELS CAME HOME
.

The escape of the Angel Team over the weeks that followed Operation Magnum is the stuff of legend, and the team’s use of SERE (Survive, Evade, Resist, Extract) training to avoid being captured by Bzadian forces is a textbook case of survival behind enemy lines. It is still studied in military schools all over the world.

Eight days after Operation Magnum, the remaining members of Recon Team Angel reached the coast of Australia and activated an emergency beacon. They were picked up by the USS
Morgan Stanley
on January 10 and were back at Fort Carson less than a week after that.

The survival of Sergeant Trianne Price, despite the loss of a leg, is regarded as something of a modern miracle, but in reality is a tribute to her toughness, determination, and the constant medical care provided by Specialist Janos (Monster) Panyoczki.

Opinion on Operation Magnum has shifted over time. Most historians now regard it as a military success, a noble sacrifice that gave the Free Territories enough time to rebuild and reinforce their defenses in preparation for the coming Ice War. It was a turning point in the Bzadian War.

The instigator of the operation, General Elisabeth Iniguez, saw things differently. She resigned as the commandant of the US Marine Corps immediately after Operation Magnum.

The court-martial of the Angel Team also caused bitter debate on both sides, but all surviving members were exonerated of any wrongdoing. Still, there was intense pressure from the public to disband the team. Already uncomfortable with the concept of the Angels, it took a negative view of the operation, with its high cost of human lives.

Under such public pressure, ACOG military commanders had no choice.

On March 1, 2032, the Recon Team Angel and Recon Team Demon programs were officially shut down.

Unofficially? That is a different story.

HE TRIED TO OPEN HIS EYES BUT COULD NOT. WHEREVER
he was, it was dark. No light filtered through his eyelids.

He was wet and cold. Cautiously raising an arm, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he could. He moved his hand to his face, feeling around his eyes and touching a soft, gelatinous substance. He wiped away as much as he could, although mainly he seemed to succeed in smearing it around his face. By wiping his hand on his uniform, he was able to clear some of the mud from his eyes, and he opened one of them to reveal waving palm trees above, framed by a blue, blue sky.

Hallucinating or dreaming? Neither turned out to be true. He looked to the left and the right and realized that he was lying on the bank of the river, in a pool of mud. His body was stuck firmly, but his legs still seemed to be in the water. He could not feel them, but he could see his feet, rocking back and forth with the movement of the water.

He tried to move his legs, to push himself farther out of the water, but they did not respond.

He touched the side of his body with his hand, tenderly pressing on his ribs, and was strangely relieved by the agonizing pain that resulted. His stomach area seemed intact. His hips were there but felt dead, as though he were touching the hips of someone else. His legs felt the same. Everything below his waist was like rubber. Like touching a dead body. There were concerned voices now, faces above him, and feet splashing down into the mud beside him. They were Bzadian faces and he tried to hold on to the thought,
Don’t speak English
. He was in Bzadian uniform. He looked Bzadian. But one word in English would give it all away.

Hands were pulling at him, trying to lift him up out of the mud, and a searing pain overwhelmed his brain; then everything faded once again to black.

The doctor entered holding a full-body holographic X-ray. She spun it around a few times in midair, zooming in and out of various bones, frowning. She smiled at him when she saw he was watching.

Her dark hair was cut in a short bob style that the aliens called a sierfruit, because it resembled the small Bzadian fruit. She was older, but not old, Chisnall thought. It was difficult to tell the age of the aliens, as their faces did not crease and line as easily as human faces. Her smile seemed genuine, though,
and well used, although that might have been part of her job description rather than part of her personality.

She was tall, almost certainly a bobble-head, as humans called that particular Bzadian race.

Yozi had been a bobble-head. He was dead now.

He was the enemy, but in many ways Chisnall had felt a kinship for him. He had admired Yozi’s concern for the troops in his squad. He had envied his bravery, diving into the waters of the lake for a bomb that could have exploded at any time.

Chisnall was silent, and the doctor said nothing, as if waiting for him to speak, which seemed unusual, considering the circumstances.

“Will I walk again?” Chisnall asked after a while.

She seemed surprised by the question. She nodded, as if it was unnecessary. “I think so. We’ll have to rebuild part of your spinal cord, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Her head bobbled slightly as she spoke, confirming Chisnall’s guess.

She moved across to the door and closed it, then returned and sat on a chair next to the bed, idly spinning the hologram around.

“Of course, it would be easier if you were Bzadian,” she said.

The words hung like ice in the air.

“You know,” Chisnall said.

“How could I not?” the doctor said. “The changes are
superficial only. I’d estimate that you are about seventeen years old. From one of the Caucasian races.”

Chisnall shut his eyes and rested his head back on the roll of soft rubber that the Bzadians used as a pillow. “Close enough,” he said.

After another long silence she said, “Some kind of spy, I presume.”

“A soldier,” Chisnall said. “Not a spy.”

Not that it mattered. They would execute him either way, with as much compunction as he would have swatting a troublesome mosquito.

“A soldier. Of course,” she said. “But still a human.”

Chisnall shrugged.

There was a long silence.

“Well, I suppose for now that had better remain our little secret,” she said, and stood up.

Chisnall started to speak, but the doctor pressed her finger to her lips.

She turned back briefly as she reached the door. “Many died up at Lowood. Both humans and Bzadians. Yet somehow you were washed miles downstream and survived.” She looked at him, evaluating him. “You were very lucky,” she said; then she was gone and he was alone.

Lucky?
he thought.
Maybe. But that luck seems to be rapidly running out
.

Everything about the Allied Combined Operations Group (ACOG) was a mishmash of different human cultures: tactics, weapons, languages, vehicles, and especially terminology. The success of many missions depended on troops from diverse nations being able to understand all communications instantly and thoroughly. The establishment of a Standardized Military Terminology and Phonetic Alphabet (SMTPA) was a key factor in assisting this communication, combining existing terminology from many of the countries involved in ACOG. For ease of understanding, here is a short glossary of some of the SMTPA terms, phonetic shortcuts, and equipment used in this book.

Note on Pronunciation

There is no equivalent in English for the buzzing sound that is a common feature of most Bzadian languages. As per convention, this sound is represented, where required, with the letter z.

Note on Bzadian Army Ranks

The ranking system and unit structure of the Bzadian Army are markedly different from those of most Earth forces. Many ranks have no equivalent in human terms, and the organization of units is different. For simplicity and ease of understanding, the closest human rank has been used when referring to Bzadian Army ranks, and Bzadian unit names have been expressed in human terms.

The following people won the grand prize in my school competitions and have all had a character named after them in this book:

BRIAN FALKNER
, a native New Zealander, now lives in sunny Queensland, Australia. His keen interest in military history inspired the futuristic “history” of the Recon Team Angel books. Find him online at
brianfalkner.com
.