Shadow Ops: Control Point

through his head. He could picture the Goblins swarming through the collapsed perimeter. They are going to need you more than ever now.

“Therese, you can’t. They’ll kill you. How long do you think it’s going to take them to figure out how I got the ATTD out? Do you honestly think they’ll turn a blind eye to that?”

Therese nodded. “Maybe they won’t figure it out,” she whispered. “Maybe I can explain.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What do you think they’re going to do?”

She shook her head. “Oscar, what the hell was going on there? Something was happening, something started this all off.”

Britton was silent. He looked at his lap. She shook his shoulders. “Tell me, damn it.

“There’s a problem, isn’t there? People are being hurt.”

He nodded.

“Send me back,” she said firmly. “I have to help.”

His heart caught in his throat as the image of the intact Quonset huts flooded his brain. They stood, untouched, in the middle of the devastated SASS. The occupants were still inside, Britton knew. Swift, Pyre, Peapod. Tsunami. Wavesign. The Goblins would be pouring over that ground first.

And that wasn’t even counting the other Goblins, Marty’s tribesmen who worked on the FOB. Would they be punished for helping Marty escape? Maybe. But there were hundreds of them spread all over the FOB. Britton knew he couldn’t save them all.

But the SASS enrollees were all in one place, and that was a start.

“You want to help?” Britton asked. “Help me.”

He stood up, shaking slightly, exhaustion gripping him.

“Where are we going? What are we doing?” she asked.

“Marty”—Britton looked down at the little Goblin—“I need you to stay here.” He shuddered to think of what would become of the creature, stranded on the Home Plane, if they didn’t return for him.

Marty shook his head. “Come with you,” he said.

“Oscar, what’s this about?” Therese asked.

“Marty,” Britton said. “Please. Just sit tight and don’t move. You won’t be able to help us where we’re going, and I can’t stand having gotten you out of there only to get you killed. I promise I’ll be back.” What if you’re not? “I promise.” He unclipped his pocketknife and handed it to the Goblin. It looked larger in his small hands, but still woefully inadequate.

“I’ll be back.” He turned to Therese. “I freed Scylla,” he said. “I thought I had to. I was a fool. She gutted the FOB like a piece of rotten fruit. I don’t know how bad it is, but I assume the neighboring Goblin tribes are hitting it hard right now. That’s what all that noise was. She left the SASS enrollees alive, but they’re right in the path of the advance. If there’s any chance of helping anyone, Therese, it should be them. I’m not happy that the SOC has a fight on its hands, or that people are going to be hurt, but I’ll be damned if I’m going back to them again. You want to help someone? Help me help Wavesign and the rest of them. I put them in this position, but the SOC put us all in it first. I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can try to fix some of it, and I can do it better with your help.”

She stared at him, mouth gaping. “Please, Therese,” he said. “There’s no time. We need to go right now. I don’t even know if they’re still alive, but we’ve got to try.”

“Goddamn it, Oscar.”

“You want to chew me out? Fine. Do it later.” He opened a gate just outside the scattered remains of Scylla’s pillbox. “Now or never,” he said. He jumped through without looking back.

But when he looked up, Therese was behind him.

And the Quonset huts were still standing, awash in a sea of Goblins.

The battle had pushed on beyond the SASS’s borders. Britton could make out army fire teams in the distance, firing from behind the cover of a few armored personnel carriers. Apaches wheeled overhead. Aeromancers danced in between them. The sky was clouded with Rocs, circling over the fray, their backs loaded with Goblin crews discharging clouds of javelins on the battle below them. Squadrons of wolf-borne Goblins charged among the soldiers, swinging halberds. White-chalked sorcerers ran in their midst, their flowing currents sensible to Britton even from that distance. As Britton watched, one armored personnel carrier was engulfed in magical fire. The ball turret gunner leapt screaming from it, beating at the flames. A dull thud heralded the arrival of a mortar round, bursting in the midst of the advancing Goblins, sending a few spiraling into the air. Britton crouched as the shrapnel tore in his direction, but he was too far away to be harmed.

A helicopter flew low over the fight, miniguns blazing. A white-painted Goblin sorcerer spread his arms and the earth erupted into a lurching spike that clipped the spinning rotors, sending the helo spinning erratically into the line of APCs, exploding in a bright ball of flame.

He heard Therese suck in her breath beside him. Later, he thought. For now, do what you can.

Swift floated above the Quonset huts. A few of the enrollees had gathered around the No-No Crew on the roof. A big, bearded man in cargo pants lifted a Goblin over his head and threw him down into the crowd below. Swift spread his arms, and lightning cracked among them, sending them scattering. Wavesign knelt on the curved dome, his perennial rain cloud gone. He managed short bursts of carefully controlled magic, sharp tendrils of ice that spread to scattering storms as they buffeted the Goblins below, driving them back. The stress of the conflict had again focused the young Hydromancer’s magic, and Britton marveled as the shards of deadly ice rained down on the throng. The havoc seemed to have had the opposite effect on Tsunami. She crouched behind Wavesign, hugging her arms around herself, crying. Pyre swept his arms over his head, sending balls of fire arcing down into the mass. A few met targets among the Goblins that gripped the Quonset hut’s superstructure, trying to scale it. Peapod gestured, and earth exploded in the midst of the Goblins, a gaping crater that sucked dozens of them in, burying them as the ground coiled on itself and closed back up, chomping like hungry teeth. A javelin burst from the throng and caught another enrollee in the chest. He fell screaming off the roof, disappearing into the surging mass below.

A cry sounded. Britton watched as a Roc banked toward Swift, its back brimming with Goblins, leveling stolen rifles at him. Swift’s attention was riveted on the assault from below, oblivious to the airborne threat moving toward him.

Britton exploded into motion, running forward and extending a hand. A gate sliced open alongside the giant bird, severing one wing. It shrieked, flapped once, experimentally, fountaining blood onto the creatures below it, then tumbled over on its side and pitched to the ground.

“Come on!” Britton was shouting. “Swift! Clear a fucking lane and come on!”

Some of the Goblins to the rear of the mass surrounding the hut were beginning to turn, their eyes narrowing. An arrow thrummed through the air, narrowly missing Therese. Britton opened a gate on the roof of the Quonset hut, but the enrollees spun to face it, disbelieving.

“Go through! Go through, you idiots!” Britton shouted, then shut the gate to open it again in front of Therese to intercept a spear hurtling toward her belly.

A group of the Goblins had turned toward them, the muzzles of their wolves plunging and snarling, while the riders brandished swords and pistols. A wolf coiled on its haunches and sprang toward him. Britton caught it in midair with a gate and sent it sliding down through the mass of the creatures, forcing them to dive to either side.

Britton’s skin began to itch, suddenly, maddeningly. His throat swelled, his tongue feeling as if it had been rolled in dust. He blinked, his eyes burning. A Goblin sorcerer moved toward them, splitting the white paint across its face as it screamed at them. It thrust its arms forward, and Britton felt his whole body cry out for water, as if he’d been wandering a desert for weeks. He swept his arm to one side, sliding the gate toward it, but the sorcerer threw itself backward, and he shut the gate to follow its progress.

Another Goblin raced toward him, a huge bearded axe waving over its head. Britton managed to drop to his side, aiming a kick at the creature’s abdomen, and sending it flipping forward, the axe tumbling away from it. An arc of lightning plowed through the Goblins, raising shrieks and the stink of burning flesh to Britton’s nostrils, but the Goblin Hydromancer’s grip on him was still tight, and he crawled in the dirt, feeling his skin begin to peel away.

Suddenly, the magic’s grip released him. He struggled to his feet to see Therese standing, her lips peeled back, fingers extended. She snarled, and the Goblins before them liquefied, flesh melting onto quivering trunks.