Shadow Ops: Control Point

reached out toward the boy, and the flames vanished as the Pyromancer’s magic rolled back.

Britton stared at Dawes. He was wounded, but he would make it.

“What happened to the girl?” Britton called to Young. The master sergeant pointed at the bullet-riddled metal door leading into the school.

Maybe she’s still alive, he thought. I’ve got to get to her before Harlequin does.

“Come with me,” Britton said, racing to the door. “The rest of you get Dawes stabilized.”

“Wait,” Harlequin said. “I can’t help you while I’m Suppressing this little shit. Let me get this secure, and I’ll smoke her out.”

No way, Britton thought. I’m not letting you kill her.

“She took a round in her gut, sir. Her elemental army has disbanded,” Britton said, moving to the door opposite Young. “If she’s not dead already, she’s in no shape to fight us.” If they had any hope of bringing her out alive, they had to move quickly. “Go with a flash-bang,” he said to Young, “just in case.”

Young nodded. Britton tried the door handle. The knob turned easily, still cool. Young yanked the flash-bang from his vest and threw it through the door. It thumped and clattered down the stairwell as both men turned away from the blinding flash that followed.

“Go! Go! Go!” Britton shouted, kicking open the door and covering with his pistol as Young rolled around the door frame, leading with his carbine.

Blood, turning tacky on the concrete, trailed down the stairwell. The girl sprawled against the white cinder- block wall, panting. She clutched her hip where the bullet had bitten a sizeable chunk out of her. Her black skirt adhered wetly to her thigh. Britton had never seen so much blood in his life.

“Cover her,” Britton said as he went to her. She moaned weakly, half-conscious. “Dan!” he shouted into the commlink. “She’s hurt bad. I’m bringing her out. I’m going to need a trauma bandage and a ton of gauze. Clotting powder if you’ve got it.”

The SOC bird landed as he burst onto the roof, setting the girl down. Goodman and Cheatham went to her as Britton raced to Dawes. The SOC assaulter ran to the helo and returned with an emergency blanket. Young helped Britton to lift Dawes as gently as they could. “It’s going to be all right, man,” Britton said. “You’re going to be fine.” Dawes whined from the clear side of his mouth. The other half of his face was a melted ruin.

The teenaged Pyromancer had expired from his wounds. His eyes stared sightlessly from his pale face.

Britton swallowed hard and helped to lay Dawes in the Kiowa. He turned back to the wounded Elementalist. “Dan, how’s she do—”

A gunshot cut him off.

By the time he had turned, the assaulter had already thrown the blanket over her, covering her face. Harlequin’s pistol smoked.

“You son of a bitch!” Britton screamed, hurling himself at Harlequin. The SOC assaulter leapt between them, pushing him back.

“ROE are clear, Lieutenant,” Harlequin said. “She’s a Probe. She attacked a government agent. She’s dead. End of story. We can discuss your attempted assault of a superior officer later.”

“You bastard!” Britton screamed. “She was wounded! She wasn’t a threat!”

“She’s a Probe,” Harlequin repeated, “and now she’s a dead Probe. Calm the hell down, Lieutenant, your men are watching.”

Britton whirled, taking in his team. All were covered in burns and cuts. Goodman looked sick. Young was pale. “Sir,” Cheatham said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Dawes needs help now. We’ve got to get him out of here.”

Britton nodded. The girl was dead, Dawes was alive. First things first.

“TOC,” Harlequin spoke into his microphone. “This is Aero-1. Element has brought order to chaos. Two enemy KIA. I’m leaving one for mop-up. The other was a confirmed Probe, and SOC will take custody of the remains.”

“Negative, Harlequin. We’re going to need all the bodies for our after-action,” came the commander’s voice.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harlequin said, not sounding sorry at all. “Regs are clear. We’re to take custody of any Probe remains. If you have any objections, feel free to take it up the chain. For now, I have my orders.”

There was a pause. “Roger that,” the commander finally replied, sounding furious. “Element status?”

“SOC Element has one KIA,” Harlequin said. “Support Element has one WIA, and one busted chopper. You also might want to get the fire department up here before what’s left of your Kiowa gets cooked. They might still be able to save the school.”

Harlequin looked around at the rising flames. The fight had been finished quickly, but the flames were spreading in spite of the fire retardant soaking the roof. “Not to worry, sir,” he said, reaching for the girl, “the SOC bird will exfiltrate full element and get the wounded to the cash right away.”

Harlequin gathered the girl’s shrouded body in his arms. “I’ll meet you on the ground.” He leapt skyward.

They squeezed ten into a helicopter meant for six, stacking themselves in the open bay, Dawes resting on top. Britton shuddered at the cooked-meat stench. He was under my command. It’s my responsibility. Harlequin warned us to stay away. Why had he even bothered to come? He hadn’t been able to save either kid. It had been useless.

The Kiowa lumbered under the extra weight, circling the burning building and descending toward the Combat Support Hospital among the trailers.

“Fucking Elementalist,” the Pyromancer said. His uniform was perfect, not a strand of his jet-black hair out of place. There was no sign of the blaze that had raged over his body beyond a faint smell of smoke. “Fucking Probe.”

“She was just a kid,” Britton said.

“Then she should have turned herself in. She ran. She went Selfer.”

Britton shuddered as a he recalled the sound of that single gunshot. “Yeah, I just saw how you treat Probes when they’re subdued. Would it have been any different if she’d turned herself in?”

The Pyromancer looked at Britton as if noticing a bug. “With all due respect, sir.” He spit out the word. “Selfers like her hurt a hell of a lot more kids than we just did. She knew the law. She had a choice. She deserved what she got. She killed one of ours and hurt one of yours.”

“The boy hurt my man, not her. Jesus. Anyone can come up Latent at any time. It’s not like she chose this. But Harlequin still shot her in the head while she was lying helpless on the ground. What the hell is wrong with you people?”

The Pyromancer shrugged. “Rules of engagement. That’s lifeblood in this business. Maybe you should memorize them, seeing how it’s your job to carry them out.”

Britton didn’t want him to have the last word. “Still, those kids did pretty good, considering they haven’t had a day of training, and you do this for a living.”

He shrugged. “It’s easy to display great magical power when you’ve got no control, sir. But theatrics don’t win battles. Skill beats will, every time.”

The Combat Surgical Hospital, or “cash,” as the soldiers called it, was assembled in a trailer beside the high school. The firelight danced on its sheer white surface, washed red by the flashing sirens of the South Burlington Fire Department.

A crowd of protestors chanted outside the police cordon, too far for Britton to determine if it was anarchists, Christian conservatives, or environmentalists this time. He could see signs over the police cruisers. MAGIC = SATAN! PRESIDENT WALSH AND ZIONISTS TRAIN TROOPS IN FORBIDDEN SCHOOLS! CLOSE THE SECRET BASE! GOBLINS ARE REAL! WHY WON’T THE GOVERNMENT TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT MAGIC CREATURES?

An army nurse arrived from the Combat Surgical Hospital trailer with a gurney. Britton and Young hefted Dawes onto it, cringing as he cried out.

“What happened?” asked the nurse.

“Selfer Pyromancer cooked him,” Britton answered.

“It’s his lucky day,” the nurse said. “We’ve got SOC burn-trauma with us.” He motioned to a SOC captain