Shadow Ops: Control Point

Britton smiled and huddled next to her while the cart bumped its way toward the flight line. He watched her, so excited to be driving a stupid electric cart, amazed by how young she was.

He looked down at her legs. Therese had done her work well. There was no sign of the damage the Selfer’s Rending magic had done.

“Are you…okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Downer asked.

“Come off it, you know why.”

“I’m fine,” Downer growled, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “We did what we had to. I got a little sloppy is all. That won’t happen again.”

Britton wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, to tell her he was her friend, that she wasn’t fooling anyone with the tough-girl act, that it was okay to be who she was, a scared kid who had gotten badly hurt. But he could tell by her tone that it would only drive her further away. So, he nodded.

“What’s the op?” he asked, keeping his voice businesslike.

“Damned if I know; I salute smartly and do my job.”

“Listen to you,” he said. She wants to be treated like an adult, to be taken seriously. You can do that much for her.

“What?” she asked.

“You sound like a military officer, saluting smartly.”

She grinned. “I do?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’ve really come along. Dropped all that weight, too. You’re a shadow of your former self.”

Downer beamed in the starlight as the cart jounced. Her short hair framed a face that would be pretty when she got a bit older. The fat was truly gone now, hard training and military chow making her lean. “Thanks, Osc… Keystone,” she said. “Kind of wish my mom could see me now.”

“Why’s that?”

“She was always…you know, she was just really religious. She never found out I was a Probe. Well, she probably did, but that was only after she thought I was dead. She was a megabitch. She’s probably glad to think I’m dead.”

“I know what you mean,” Britton said, thinking of his father.

“But now I’m doing good work, I’m helping out. I think if my mom could see that, it might…you know.”

“Change her mind about you.”

Downer nodded, her voice grew pensive. “She never thought much of me. Used to call me her ‘little piggie.’ Mostly I think she was mad because I never took to church the way she wanted me to.”

“It was like that for me, too.”

“Your mom?”

“My dad. He was a real piece of work. He was pretty religious, too, and he never liked me.”

“Does he think you’re dead?”

Britton waved a hand at the concrete barricade wall, hidden in the shadows beyond the rows of tents and converted trailers. “He’s out there somewhere, probably in some monster’s belly.” He remembered Stanley’s wide eyes as he looked beyond the gate, the keening of the approaching demon-horses. His poor mother. Where was she now? I never got to say I was sorry to her, either.

“You gated him out here?”

He nodded. “In front of my mom. Right before I ran.”

She was silent for a moment. “Well, it’s all behind you now,” she said. “You got a presidential pardon, same as me. Harlequin says we’re all legal now. Totally in compliance.”

He shook his head. “Why do you think this whole operation is so secret? The confidentiality agreements? Why we’re contractors instead of SOC? This whole thing is completely illegal.”

She looked dead ahead, her lips pursed, searching for a reply. He regretted his words. She was a Selfer, same as he, ripped out of any sense of home. She’d found one there, and he supposed, so had he. And just like him, she’d proved herself. She’d used her magic to do some good. She deserved the absolution that brought.

“It’s all right,” he said. “This country was founded on breaking a law. Sometimes laws don’t get the job done. Sometimes it takes brave people to do that.”

“Harlequin said we’re all in compliance,” she repeated.

“He wouldn’t steer you wrong.” He looked over at her. “And he seems to really like you.” He had no evidence of that, but it had the desired effect, and Downer smiled broadly. Britton understood. Harlequin was an impressive figure even to an adult; how much more so to a young girl?

“You got a boyfriend?” he asked. He instantly knew he had erred. He had meant to flatter her, but she grew quiet, her face clouded. Idiot, he said inwardly. Your team gunned him down.

“I’m sorry,” Britton finally said. “It was stupid of me.”

“Nah,” Downer said eventually. “He was stupid. He was just a kid. He smoked and stuff. Things are different now. I’m trained, and I’ve grown up a lot. Tom was nice, but he wasn’t really good with his magic the way…you know, the way some people are.”

The way Harlequin is, Britton thought.

“Being young doesn’t necessarily make you stupid,” Britton said. “He was probably doing the best he could, just like you.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the flight line. Three helos — two Apaches and a Blackhawk — were spun up and awaiting them.

Fitzy waved from the Blackhawk, motioning Britton to board, then dismissed Downer with a wave of his wrist. The Blackhawk held four soldiers kitted out for an imminent assault.

The helos launched skyward, veered sharply, and set off, leaving Britton to clip in and watch the landscape unfold from the open bay door. The barricade wall of FOB Frontier passed beneath them, marking the bustle of men and the maze of buildings from the rolling landscape, brightly lit by the stars. The plain gently rose, clustered with tangles of vegetation. Campfires burned here and there, too far below for Britton to make out their sources. After a few minutes, the plain gave way to thick forest. Spiky treetops clustered so thickly that Britton couldn’t make out the trunks.

Fitzy signaled the flight officer, and the helo shuddered, the engine noises rising to a high whine, then suddenly dropping lower. Britton could see the rotor tips, the low blur shifting as the pilot made adjustments. The birds sagged in the air.

“Whaddya think?” Fitzy asked, grinning.

Britton started as he realized that he could hear the chief warrant officer much more clearly though Fitzy still had to yell. The birds were far more quiet than before. He’d never heard of such technology when he’d been flying.

“It ain’t silent running, but it’ll do,” Fitzy said. “We’re going to make a recon pass over a Goblin fortress. It’s causing us problems every time we want to reach the coast, and command wants it out of our backfield. You’re going to get a nice, long look at the field inside the palisade. Once you feel confident, we’re going to gate in and clear the place.”

The birds began to descend, dropping close enough for Britton to make out the pointed tops of the trees, sparkling with frost.

“No way this is quiet enough,” Britton said. “They’ll hear us.”

“But not until we’re on top of them,” Fitzy said. “Just keep your eyes open and get a good look. Less time on target, the safer we’ll all be.”

“If it’s such a problem, why not hit it from the air?”

“Because we want to capture the Hepta-Bak alive. Command thinks the other Sorrahhad tribes might fall into line if we can convince the leaders to negotiate.”

“The Hepta who?”

“It’s their leader. Like a prince. You can tell him from the white dots on his face.”

Britton thought of Marty, the white paint on his eyebrows, forehead, the base of his ears.

Fitzy paused, as if considering something, before he spoke again. “Remember when you asked me before