Shadow Ops: Control Point

Bared teeth dripped away, sliding into running gums that vanished to reveal shrinking jawbones. The cry that went up was unholy. What remained of the wolves and their riders danced bloody jigs. Broken hindquarters turned spastic circles. She had sworn she’d never Rend again, Britton thought. This is going to leave a mark.

For the moment, the circle of Goblins surged back, horrified by the carnage. Therese’s current relaxed, and Britton could see her face fall, horrified at the damage she’d wrought. Can’t worry about that now. He snapped the gate open on the roof again and motioned to Swift. “Go! Go!”

Swift gaped at the carnage beneath him for a moment before lighting on the roof and herding the remaining enrollees into the gate. Wavesign stumbled, nearly slid off the roof as a javelin flew past his calf, but Swift caught him under the armpits and shoved him through.

Rotors whined overhead as two Kiowas appeared on the horizon, banking sharply toward them. The Goblins broke their paralysis and turned to face the new threat. Britton closed the gate and opened it in front of them. Therese stood, dumb, her eyes fixed on the field before her. Her mouth worked, silently. She’s no Scylla, he thought. He draped his arm around her shoulder as gently as he could and walked her through the gate, stepping into the bowl of moss where the enrollees had gathered around Marty, shivering in the cold. Swift stared around him at the woods, cradling his elbows, stupefied. Wavesign crouched at the base of tree, shivering in his own cloud of vapor.

Marty had been busy in their absence, his arms full of mushrooms. A small pile of sampled plants had been gathered on a rock beside him. Now he stood and dashed among the SASS enrollees, clucking over wounds and producing his worn leather pouch.

Therese paused a moment, then joined him, turning first to Britton. “Nothing I can do for you,” she said, her voice distant, clinical. “You need a Hydromancer, not a Healer.” She walked off, squatting by a young woman with a gash across her face, cupping her cheek and letting her magic knit the wound.

“Therese…” he called after her. But she ignored him, losing herself in the bustle of her work.

Later, he thought again. It’s not safe here. You’re in a state park not too far off the beaten path. The SOC still has a Portamancer. They can be here in an instant. How long before you are discovered? Before these people freeze?

He looked back toward the crowd of enrollees. They squatted, miserable and shivering, muttering in low voices, most looking too shocked to do much. But Britton knew it wouldn’t last long.

This is your fault. You got them into this. Now, you have to get them out.

CHAPTER XXXII: A SAFE PLACE

…of course the muj had that crazy Muslim total prohibition on magic use. So they were reduced to packing all their gear in through those tight Waziristani defiles, little more than goat paths, really. They were counting on the cloud cover screening them from our air-assault teams. But they didn’t count on the Aeromantic support getting the skies cleared up in a matter of minutes.

— Interview with COL Alexander Keifer, 101st Airborne Division

Excerpted from Robin Hamdan’s 100 days in the FATA

Britton stood, stunned. He had done it. He had fled the SOC, he had gotten away. Swift looked up at him, his eyes wide. You’re thinking the same thing. You have no idea what to do either. You were so focused on getting free that you never gave a minute’s thought to what you’d do once you got there.

But Britton remembered running before. He remembered his world spinning away from him and keeping on regardless. He remembered staring at a hanging pay-phone receiver, smelling like stale beer.

Baby steps, he thought. The first thing this crew needs is a leader. The crowd continued to mill, shivering.

Peapod alone seemed to have any presence of mind. She swept her arms upward, and the trees bowed, extending branches to shelter them, keeping off the worst of the wind. Pyre stooped and heaped a pile of stones, running his hands over them until they glowed red-hot, sparking and cracking, warmer and brighter than any wood fire Britton had ever seen. The enrollees shivered around it, arms draped around knees. Britton worried that the light might alert the authorities but figured that the comfort was more needed at the moment. For now, panic had been staved off.

“Thanks,” Swift managed. “What happened back there, with Scylla?”

Britton almost told him, then decided to keep it to himself. You can’t afford a fight over that just now. Instead, he ignored the question. He glanced nervously skyward as the sound of a plane thrummed far overhead. Through a gap in Peapod’s shelter of trees, Britton could make out blinking red lights on the wings.

“Where are we?” Swift asked.

“Vermont,” Britton said. “State park. I went camping here once.”

“We can’t stay here,” the Aeromancer said.

“No, we can’t,” Britton replied.

“We could head to Mexico,” Pyre piped up, “or Canada.”

“So we can get rounded up and handed over as part of the reciprocity agreement?” Peapod asked. “Mexico is a damned vassal state.”

“You got a better idea?” Pyre snapped.

“Why can’t we just stay here? Or maybe go to some other wilderness? What about Alaska?”

“We’re not survivalists!” someone in the crowd said.

“We don’t have to be,” Peapod replied. “We’ve got magic.”

“That won’t do us any good once the SOC starts hunting for us,” Swift said. “They’re better than we are.”

“Bet you wish you’d spent a little more time practicing with Salamander when you’d had the chance, eh, No-No boy?” Tsunami groused.

This is getting out of control, Britton thought. Someone has to lead before things come totally apart.

“That’s enough,” Britton said, his voice taking on the tone of command he’d used in the army. The group responded to it, looking up at him expectantly. What now?

Britton felt fingers brush his own and looked down to see Marty at his side, looking wide-eyed at him. “Much angry,” the Goblin said. The others stared at him, and whispers ran through the clearing.

“Why?” Marty asked, ignoring them. “Why angry?”

Because I hurt them, Britton thought. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And now I have to make that right, Marty. Now I have to help them. But he didn’t say it. The group needed a commander, and it was not the time to show weakness or remorse. He only looked at Marty, his gaze level. “We have to find a place to go where the SOC can’t find us,” Britton said to Marty, his voice loud and full of confidence he didn’t feel. “That place can’t be in this world. It has to be in the Source, and well away from the FOB. We don’t know what else the SOC knows about the lay of the land there, but they will have a harder time finding and reaching us.” He made a point of not mentioning Billy, whose ability made reaching them no problem at all.

We’ll just have to stay hidden, then.

Marty pursed his lips and wiggled his ears as if to say of course. He punched Britton’s chest lightly and nodded. “We Mattab On Sorrah,” he said, tapping his eyelids and bowing. “We always help.”

“This is my Mattab On Sorrah now,” Britton said. “The army is going to come for us.”

The Goblin nodded and smiled. “I know.” He leaned in close, smiling and tapping Britton’s chest again. “Safe place.”

“Yes, Marty, a safe place,” Britton said. “We have to take them there.”

Marty paused for a moment, thinking. “Remember, bird head?”