Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (33 page)

“Agent Christensen has indicated several guards surround the compound during the day. We will use the SUAV to ascertain the number and location of the guards. Team Bravo, led by Rodney, will enter the town from the south on State Highway 17. They will approach the compound from the southwest, going up Division Street. Since they are in a rented truck, they can create a diversion by asking the guards for directions and using whatever means necessary to distract the guards’ attention.” Agent Graham marked another spot, on a hill east of the compound.

“Team Guardian, led by Fred, will occupy a position on the hill. Coming from Route 43, two agents will remain in the van while two agents will provide observation, spotting and precision fire using an M107 anti-material rifle. The range from the hill to the compound is five hundred yards. The range to Alpha team’s waiting van is eight hundred and fifty yards. All these are well within the rifle’s range. Contour mapping using NIMA digital terrain data indicates that Guardian should have clear zones of fire.” Agent Graham marked another spot on the satellite map.

Thorpe smiled. His laptop displayed contour mapping of the area, but nobody looked at him. His smile waned.

“Team Delta is the backup. Six agents in an agency van will be waiting on Route 38 inside the town. Their position will allow them to reach any spot within three minutes.” Agent Graham turned to Thorpe.

“The Raven SUAV will provide surveillance during the entire operation. It will give us the go-ahead, using its thermal camera to locate the target’s tent. It will provide us with a count of the guards and will provide perimeter surveillance during the operation.” Agent Graham turned to the director.

“The agents will be using standard P90 submachine guns, armor vests, wearable radio transmitters and night-vision goggles. The M107 will use a thermal sight. The Raven’s video will be received in HQ.” Agent Graham turned to the director who motioned for him to go on.

“The teams have been issued the operation’s timetable. By oh-two-hundred hours the last vans will leave the town. If the SUAV or Guardian indicate that the target is not there, we abort. If the extraction team is spotted in the camp, they will retreat to their van. If retreat is not possible, they will lay suppressing fire and their van, along with the backup team, will pick them up,” Agent Graham said. The director moved forward, the other agent making way for the tall director. He reached the satellite image of the town and looked at it closely. His gaze turned to the timetable drawn next to it.

“Weather?”

“Sir, we have a problem there,” Agent Graham said. “There has been a storm cloud hanging over Owego for days now. Agent Thorpe maintains that the cloud is growing and that a storm may break anytime now, according to his information.”. He smiled at Thorpe and turned back to the director.

“We have taken into consideration Thorpe’s forecast. Thus the plan assumes bad weather,” Agent Graham said. The director turned to Thorpe.

“Sir, I’m using NOAA weather satellite images that I am receiving on my laptop,” Thorpe said. “The storm
will
break soon.”

“Agent Graham, in clear weather Pave Low helicopters can be used,” the director said.

“Yes, sir. But we assumed bad weather. No helicopters”,” the agent said. The director’s gaze remained on Thorpe, yet the young man remained stout. The director finally turned to Agent Graham and Thorpe slumped back down in his seat.

“Agent Graham, peripheral support,” the director demanded.

“Yes, sir. After you approve the plan I’ll have the homeland security office coordinate with the local police forces. At zero one hundred hours, the police will erect five road blocks on Route 38, on Highway 17 and on the mountain road. The roadblocks will be two miles away from town, to prevent detection. This will isolate the town and allow us to work uninhibited,” Agent Graham said. The director looked at the satellite map again.

“Agent Graham, at twenty-three hundred hours, or earlier, have the police blockade the town itself. We might have a stampede, people running away from town or the cult running. I want everybody stopped till we figure out who is who. Carry on, Agent Graham. And, Agent Graham, I want the local Owego police arrested on sight,” the director said.

***

Ellis was putting on an armor vest. The Interceptor vest the NSA agents were using was a derivative of the army’s armor. It was colored dark blue to minimize the risk of premature detection. Ellis closed the front flaps of the armor, making sure they held tight. She wore dark clothes and a heavy utility belt. A transducer was positioned in her ear, a black wire leading into the radio she wore under her vest. She checked the long magazines of her P90 submachine gun. She reloaded every magazine by hand, making sure the SS190 bullets were properly aligned. The bullets were arranged side-by-side in the magazine, a unique P90 circular arrangement. The submachine gun itself, small and efficient, with a high rate of fire, was optimal for urban combat.

Ellis pulled the cocking handle, checked the breech and passed the weapon’s strap over her head. It rested on her chest, its soft contours designed for easy carrying. Ellis extracted his night vision goggles from its case. The AN/PVS-7 Night Vision Goggles used a third-generation image intensifier tube. A strap was used to attach it around the user’s head. It amplified ambient light to provide a green-shaded world view. Ellis checked the goggles, opening the cover caps to check for damage. She didn’t activate them, since the light in the room would have damaged the light-intensifying tube. She looked up, meeting Thorpe’s eyes. He blushed and momentarily stopped working, even though he was working obsessively at his laptop,  as if every second wasted might spell doom. There were so many things happening; he was finding it very hard to keep up with the incidents in Colorado, Russia, Africa and, here, in Owego.

“I can’t help noticing that his is bigger,” Thorpe said, after a long silence. Fred was assembling a M107. The Belgian rifle fired huge machine-gun bullets. It was designed as an anti-material rifle, its primary mission to engage softly armored targets like APCs and shelters at ranges up to one mile away. The NSA used it as a sniping rifle, taking advantage of its long range and high accuracy coupled with high destructive capability.

Fred was carefully assembling the barrel, making sure the boxy fire suppressor at the end of the barrel was attached securely. Fully assembled, the twenty-pound rifle was almost four feet long. Fred extracted a large thermal weapon sight from its box and attached it to the Picantiny rail on his rifle. The thermal sight, an AN/PAS-13, operated on a different principle than the night vision goggles. It used cooled IR detectors to measure slight differences in temperature. Its gray-shaded picture of the world showed targets that emitted heat - like people and vehicles. It was capable of operating both in bad weather and through haze. Its only drawback was its greater weight.

Fred ignored the two people looking at him. He checked the device, activating its built-in test button. He sighed when he saw the green light indicator light up and turned the device off. He had seven magazines ready. He checked every one of them, making sure there were nine bullets inside. His spotter had a laser range finder and would be carrying the magazines, helping Fred in surveillance and conducting target engagement. Fred finally turned to Ellis and Thorpe, sitting side by side on the large bed in the room.

“Today’s women. They can’t handle anything too heavy for fear of breaking a nail,” Fred told Thorpe. Ellis laughed.

“I seem to recall a big, tough agent being thrown to the floor not long ago. By a woman, if I remember correctly. Several times, if memory serves,” Ellis said. Fred ignored her. He was attaching a radio around his waist, the speaker going into his ear.

“You have to let them win, or they will pout, which might damage their makeup. This is progress. Someone decided women should be allowed in the special operations teams, but somehow forgot to say that they were only supposed by work as secretaries,” Fred said, shaking his head. Ellis stopped laughing and glared at the big agent. “And since women got on the teams, they get to go on every operation, provided they get their four-hour beauty sleep every afternoon. Heavens help us if they should get a wrinkle!” Fred continued.

Agent Graham passed between his agents, talking, making jokes and helping them check their equipment.

“Graham! You’re head of operations. Why did they let women in?” Fred demanded as Agent Graham passed near them. The agent smiled.

“Someone decided we men aren’t good enough. And they were right,” the agent winked and moved on. Fred stared after him.

“See what I mean? The poor man is completely brainwashed!” Fred walked away, muttering.

“I see you two have a very interesting relationship,” Thorpe said. Ellis laughed.

“Yeah. He was my trainer. Taught me everything I know about field operations,” Ellis said.

“Pizzas!” An agent passed nearby with an open tray with pizzas. Thorpe hurriedly rushed after him and returned with two slices, giving one to Ellis.

“Would you look at that,” Thorpe exclaimed disgustedly.

“What?” Ellis asked.

“I told them. I said, bring Napoli-style pizza, with the thick cheese coating. But do they listen? No! Now, look at this thing!”

Ellis laughed and bit into her slice.

***

“There’s another big one coming, there is.”

“You’re rambling again.”

“I’m serious. And this will be a norther to be remembered.”

“Your knee’s giving you trouble again?”

“Nope.”

“What? The little birdies are talking to you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re pulling my leg, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a real corker, you know that?”

“Could be, could be. Look over there, old timer!” The old cowboy turned his head to the right and looked towards the eastern sky.

“I’ll be damned!” A uniform black and gray curtain filled the sky as far as the eye could see. The black cloud hanging over them was descending.

Day 16 after Earth Barrier Breach.

The fast brigantine “Poison Dagger” on approach to Earth. Tuesday, 10:00.

The witch appeared on the ship, stepping out of a black, oval doorway from a black abyss. As it moved forward, the oval opening closed behind him like an eye. The witch stopped before reaching the stairs leading down to its cabin, one hand clutching at its robes, feeling the contours of something hidden inside the voluminous black silk robes.

“Others may seek that which I now possess. It may be that preparedness has its merits.” The witch turned and walked over towards the two heavy bolt throwers on the deck, making sailors scramble madly to get out of the way. The witch stopped before the two war engines, their five-yard-long bolts stacked near them. The black athame was pulled out and stabbed into the wooden frames. The witch finished his carving and straightened up, looking at his handiwork carefully.

“
Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa! Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa! Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa!
Breach the Nethergates of the Pit Lands! A mortal is offered! A service for a prize! A vessel is waiting for you, full of juicy essence!” The call echoed over the Skyriver lane. The wood-and-metal frames of the war engines groaned. A dark mist entered them and two malevolent eyes lit up, shedding a green light around them. The ape-demon rose up, fusing and molding wood and metal to reform its body. Splintering, cracking noises filled the ship as the monster adjusted its new body, finally forming it to its satisfaction and falling down on all fours, the fists of its long arms on the deck, its long tusks showing as its maw gaped open, towering above the black-clad witch.

“
Saawantaa!
Perform your service. Only then will you receive your prize. Do not fail me again!” The metallic voice snapped, causing the demon’s maw to snap closed and its eyes to light up with anger. The witch turned and headed towards its cabin, the huge ape-demon shuffling after it and assuming position at the cabin’s entrance, barring the way to all, an infernal guardian.  Its new wooden and metal body creaked when it turned, scanning all around it. It was resolved not to fail again in its task. The heavy sensation the sailors had learnt to recognize filled the ship again. A dark green mist rose from the wood and the lines, condensing like dew on flowers. Things moved inside it, terrible living things, throbbing and scuttling under the cover of the mist.

Several lamps, fixed to the wooden walls of the chamber, shed light in the small cabin the witch used. Its one window was closed and barred, and the cot in the corner appeared to be unused. The witch sat on the sole chair in the cabin, throwing the black silk robe onto the cot. Its black under tunic was rumpled, though the black iron mask and black gloves were still worn, as always.

The stone tablet was standing on the small table in the black-robed man’s cabin, the nine-sided polygonal sigils carved into the ancient stone. Nevertheless, they moved. They spun slowly, changing position and orientation imperceptibly every blink of an eye. A pattern could be discerned after a time. The sigils were arranged in several concentric nine-sided polygons around a central sigil. They rotated around it, planets revolving around a sun, every sigil laying a path according to its own course, but ultimately all of them spinning around the central sigil in a complex pattern.

The central sigil was slightly larger than the rest, like a large mountain encircled by a polygon. It changed slowly over time. The high peak was gradually transformed into a wide plateau, then a deep valley formed between two peaks, followed by three shallow mountain peaks. The small mountain continued to change, flowing over time from shape to shape. The witch leaned back on his chair and shook his iron mask. He stared at the tablet for a time, though the changing shapes, moving in their jerky movements, were dizzying. The black mask turned away for a moment before directing its attention at the tablet again.

“The hand, the eyes, roots. Breathing life to that which is still, responding to that which is not said. Action before thought, thought before fire. Form dependent on essence, essence contained within a frame. Power coming from beneath, from the ancient Mother.” A black-silk-clad finger traced the outline of the nonagon, and then penetrated into the nine-sided polygons, moving from one sigil to another.

“Strength of the bear, resilience of water, motion of the earthquake. Animate that which knoweth not to question.” The finger moved from sigil to sigil till it reached the inner one, the ever-changing mountain in the middle of the tablet, the largest nonagon. The other sigils stayed constant when touched by the finger, but this one kept changing, its perpetual metamorphosis constant.

“The Directives are clear: the form of the conjuration is trivial. Its rendering is straightforward. But this. This. The Primal Name. It is not one of the ten thousand names. How can this be?” A finger clicked the table irritably. A long sigh was emitted.

Finally, a dry chuckle emerged from within the black iron mask.

“A good thing witch’s magic stems from other sources. Kernel Conjurations seem to take some effort to decipher, but my task appears to be simple - prevent the wizards from acquiring them. Perhaps I should get all the other tablets as well.” The black silk glove brushed the tablet gently. The sigils  felt like they had been carved into solid stone, but as soon as the black silk glove was taken away, the sigils appeared in different locations.

“Perhaps I may yet find some use for it. There may be witches or other forces interested in this. Perhaps, even, my so-called employers.” A dry chuckle rang out again.

“Then again, perhaps giving the tablet to the wizards will prove more beneficial. We could strike while they suffered from headaches trying to understand the Kernel. This find might prove very beneficial. The wizards will no doubt learn very quickly that the sphere of Eretz has been reopened to the Skyriver. They will flood into Eretz, trying to find the lost city of Hamazu, trying to recover their lost treasures. I think my Empire ‘employers,’” the metallic voice sneered at the last word “should be persuaded to enter this sphere in force. They will hamper whatever wizards come to the sphere while I pick up the Kernel Conjurations one by one.” The hollow voice was smug.

The black-robed man thought for some time and then extended his arm and turned the tablet around. He laughed. On the backside of the tablet was carved a single sigil, a mouth encircled by a nine-sided polygon, eyes and other small symbols delicately carved perpendicular to the nonagon’s sides.

This sigil did not appear to move, even after being stared at for a long time. A finger was extended, tracing the sigil’s sides lightly.

“Hmm, I was always weak at Veil magic. This should be the ‘window whispering that which should be known -
HEL PARCHOOPECHE MURDOOTAA
.’ “ As soon as the syllables rang in the air, the sigil ignited, flooding the small cabin with iridescent, brilliant light. The black-robed man jumped back, his chair thudding as it fell down. The witch crouched and opened his arms, a black oval hole appearing between them, held like a shield between him and the glowing sigil. The light from the sigil gradually coalesced, forming a beam of coruscating light shining up from it. The sigil flashed once and the cabin changed.

The ship cabin turned into a wide chamber constructed out of huge blocks of stone. Intricate symbols were etched into the floor. Massive beams of light were visible through wide-open windows, beaming out of nine-sided ziggurats and pyramids. A man stared outside and then seemed to stare right at the black-robed man. He wore a dress-like robe, decorated and frilled. His beard and long hair were plaited, both arranged into neat braids. He wore a tall round hat and over each wrist was a bracelet with a small gold sun. The man had a haunted look and was breathing heavily, leaning on the massive wall for support. The witch straightened up. The black oval hole in his hands vanished and he looked around. His back stiffened for a moment, his fists clenching. He relaxed almost immediately.

“Yes, caution is an admirable trait. I might attempt to acquire it, in a centaury or two,” the witch said. His attention returned to the man inside the room who had seemed to regain control of his breathing enough to speak.

“I do not have much time. They are coming. Their armies are flooding into the valley. Some of our best tried to head them off, fighting them at the head of thousands of the brave mortals of Eretz. None of them survived, even though they used the mightiest of our war conjurations. They were cut off, attacked from the ground and the air. They breached the valley, coming from several directions. We flung our most powerful conjurations at them, burning their troopers and their followers, the misguided mortals who threw their lot with their suppressors. May we be someday forgiven for the slaughter we wrought that day. The sky rained fire and the earth rose up to decimate those that had come to wreck our works! It has all been for naught. The accursed god minions and their demon-prince slaves with their terrible demon blades kept advancing, towering over the burnt remains of their mortal servants.” The man stopped talking, covering his face with his hands. He continued a moment later.

“I have been in our remote viewing chambers. I have seen what comes our way. We have no chance. We must flee, live on and carry the knowledge we have worked so hard to accumulate. The manifestations of the Bir Nibaru Gods are personally leading their forces. They will be here, shortly.” The man stopped. The room rocked as a sharp shrieking sound tore the air, culminating in an explosion that caused mortar to fall from the roof of the chamber, despite that the explosion had been partly muffled, as if a force still strove to hold it off. The man leaned on the wall for support and glanced outside. He turned back immediately.

“Our defenses crumble. Every defensive conjuration was used, every Ziggurat tapped for every shred of magic it had accumulated. It did not suffice. Our apprentices fell one by one, trying to wrestle with forces beyond their control. The towers are falling. The Ziggurats are cracking. We had no idea - we had not known - the power!” A sob escaped from the man, forcing him to stop talking. The witch groped around, grabbed his now-invisible chair and sitting down, tapping his black boot on the deck impatiently.

The man continued a moment later.

“They were so powerful! Beyond anything we thought possible! Hamazu will fall this day, that is certain. Eretz is doomed to fall to tyranny! We must preserve what is possible; we must not give up. The hope of humanity rides with us. There are nine of us who will attempt to flee, secreting the Kernels of our power. If only we had had the time to use them, things might have been different!” The man’s raised fist dropped and he cringed and covered his eyes. A blinding flash of light, pulsing in intricate patterns, rose into the air, and sped away into the distance. The man waited for the shrieking noise to subside as the magical conjuration streaked away, trailing burning light in its wake.

“We will hide and try to protect the future, try to ensure that what we have achieved is not lost forever. We will teach, the master wizards gathering apprentices anew. In due time, we will grow again, we will free Man!” The man shook his fist in defiance, but a short-lived defiance as another blinding beam of light struck down, this time penetrating the defenses and smashing a nearby tower, reducing it to its foundations. The man ducked, stone splinters pinging against the chamber’s walls, some flying into the room through the wide windows. The man rose up from his crouching position and turned to the seated witch.

“Our Kernel Conjurations will be secreted in nine locations in this sphere. The wizards of the future will find those conjurations and they will learn what power lies within them. Man must be set free! Ours is the right way, I have no doubt about it. Shamlassen’s mad plan will fail! It must! It must! We leave now, the nine masters. Each will secrete the Conjuration given into his care. We must make sure the witches do not learn of this. If the Conjurations fall into the hands of those damned black vessels, man will fall into the yoke of masters far worse than he has now. You, who have found the Kernel Conjuration, learn of its power! Decipher its meaning. It is the pinnacle of centuries of study. Use it well. Use it for the benefit of mankind! Find the other eight conjurations.”

The blinding light coming from the sigil carved into the back of the stone tablet winked out, causing the image of the stony chamber to disappear. The shipboard cabin of the witch returned. The witch itself remained sitting on the chair, hugging itself, doubled up in laughter.

***

The witch paced to and fro in its cabin, like a lion inside its den. Its black robe was on the cot.

“I cannot doubt it any more. The tablet, the senile wizard’s tale and the conjuration of protection inside the tunnels prove the point beyond a doubt. It is Eretz, the sphere where Hamazu once stood. There are still eight Kernel Conjurations on the sphere, beside that which I now possess. I must decide what to do.” The witch paced some more, soft boots making no noise on the wooden floor. “I am on a mercenary ship, hired by an Empire House on a mission to assassinate a rival noble. Perhaps it is best to destroy all three ships and be done with it. Keep the sphere secret, let the Kernel Conjurations lie hidden.” The witch suddenly stopped. “It is a fool’s plan. The Veil Fluxes are full of power, flowing into the sphere. Others will notice them. Before long, the sphere will be crawling with wizards, anxious to lay their hands on the work of their predecessors.” The witch looked around him, as if expecting wizards to jump at him from the walls of his cabin.