Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone (16 page)

‘Because of what a lot of people did,’ Harlequin said, faces flashing through his mind.
Oscar Britton, Alan Bookbinder.

Hallert shrugged. ‘Of course.’

‘You want to thank me for all that? Get me help, Ambassador. Convince them that it’s in all of their interests to help.’

‘Sit tight,’ Hallert responded, clapping him on the shoulder again. ‘Convincing people is what I do.’

Chapter Ten

Don’t Give Up The Ship

The real value in Probe magic is its power as a force multiplier. With the exception of Rending, pretty much every Probe school results in an increase in applicable battlefield assets or firepower. This is what makes the Shadow Coven program so incredibly important to our continued dominance in the arcane domain. That said, there are limits. A Portamancer employing GIMAC can only manipulate a single gate at a time. An Elementalist must Bind his or her magic to sustain the noncorporeal ‘body’ of an elemental, greatly limiting the number that can be commanded at once. A Necromancer has it easier. Dead bodies already have cell cohesion, granting them the power to raise and command armies. But unlike elementals, zombies have no will and cannot act of their own accord. They are flesh automatons, requiring the Necromancer’s constant attention and direction.

– Chief Warrant Officer-4 Albert Fitzsimmons, Inputs to quarterly report on the progress of the Shadow Coven (C4U-Umbra) program

For the moment, the buoy deck was clear, while the aquatic goblins busied themselves with the sailors from the
Giffords
. Bookbinder watched their heads disappearing beneath the water as long as he could stand it, but the scene finally overwhelmed him, and he looked around the bridge on the pretext of assessing the damage.

The giant wave hadn’t swamped the ship, but the
Breakwater
was listing badly to port, the ball and hook from the giant crane rocking threateningly over the bullet-riddled deck.

Bonhomme stood with his fists propped against the helm console, eyes locked on the carnage churning around the
Giffords
’s overturned hull. Rodriguez watched him, looking like she wanted to say something, but thinking better of it. Bonhomme finally said, ‘We can’t go after them.’

Bookbinder hated the words, couldn’t deny the truth of them. ‘No, we can’t.’

What do we do?
Bonhomme mouthed, jaw quivering.

‘What’s your recommendation, skipper?’ Bookbinder asked.

Bonhomme shook his head. ‘We can’t fight them.’

‘We’ve been fighting them,’ Bookbinder said, ‘winning, too.’

‘Maybe they want in on whatever’s going down onshore,’ Rodriguez said. ‘We could head out to sea, stand off, and wait for help. We’re oceangoing, sir.’

‘No way,’ Bookbinder said. ‘That thing swamped two warships. It’ll flood the southern tip of the island just as easy. We can’t let that happen.’
Whatever is going on there, Harlequin needs my help. I should be there, damn it.
He bit down on the frustration.

‘We don’t have any stores laid in,’ Bonhomme said. ‘This was supposed to be a day cruise. I’m not even sure what the hull integrity looks like.’ He gestured to the obvious slope of the buoy deck. ‘I need a damage report, but I sincerely doubt the desalination unit is up and running right now. We’ve got wounded crew. This ship may not be stable. We need to get to shore.’

Bookbinder knew this as well, but it didn’t make him feel any better to hear it.

Screams reached him from the churning water around the
Giffords
. The goblins were taking their time only because they saw the
Breakwater
wounded and limping. There was no need for them to hurry.

‘Once the navy knows their ships went down, they’ll send helos. Maybe they can airlift us off,’ Rodriguez added, ‘drop depth charges on that thing.’

‘It’s going to take time,’ Bonhomme said.

‘Well,’ Bookbinder said, ‘let’s make it easier on them and head inland. You’ve tried the radios ag . . .’

‘They’re dead. Shore’ – Bonhomme pointed past the
Giffords
– ‘is that way. I’m not sure what our engines will do right now.’

You’re not sure because you’re standing here whining and not calling for a damage report!
Bookbinder’s mind shouted. Rodriguez spared him the need to say it. ‘I’ll get an engine room SITREP, sir. See what casualties we have.’ She grabbed a phone receiver off the console before remembering the loss of comms and slamming it back into its cradle. She jogged out of the hatch, while Bonhomme turned around and punched the console.

‘We’ve got to go back around that giant . . . thing . . . whatever it is in the water that let those monsters in.’

‘It’s a gate,’ Bookbinder answered. ‘I have no idea how it got here, but that’s what it is. It bridges our world and the Source.’
If I name the thing, maybe it will frighten him less.

‘You were there,’ Bonhomme said.

Bookbinder nodded. ‘I was. It’s not all that different from our world. If anything, it’s simpler. There’s no more reason to fear it than you would a desert. The worst thing we’ll have to do is tangle with more of these water goblins, and we’ve already licked them once.’

Bonhomme shook his head. ‘We won’t last another round. We’re not geared for warfighting. None of us have the training, we sure as hell don’t have the equipment. You know who did? Those guys!’ He stabbed a finger out the bridge window at the
Giffords
’s vanishing hull.

Bonhomme was shouting now, using anger to cope with fear. Bookbinder had seen it before. It never helped. ‘We’re trained to pull buoys out of the water, tow broken-down yachts, and maybe arrest someone for having a nickel bag of weed. Christ, the most dangerous thing we’ve ever done was lay boom around a chemical spill.’

Rodriguez stuck her head back in as Bonhomme built up steam, saw what was unfolding, and stepped back out into the passageway. Bookbinder excused himself and stepped out after her, catching her elbow. ‘Ripple . . .’

Rodriguez looked at the deck, shook her head, left.

Bookbinder’s heart sank. Just a kid. The long line of whatifs began to blossom in his head, already doing the blame dance that held himself responsible for each person under his command. He’d lost people before, his first on the journey to the Indian FOB in the Source. They were all volunteers, and they knew what they’d signed up for, but it never got any easier. Ripple was his minder, but she was also his subordinate and reminded him of the woman his own daughter might someday become.

He thought of the corpses of the Marines, smoking in the hallway behind him as he made his way to Oscar Britton’s cell.
Harlequin bears those deaths,
he thought.
I’m responsible for enough without taking that on.
But he couldn’t help turn the scenario over in his mind. Was there something he could have done to save them?
They were already dead when you stepped out into the hallway. They would have stopped you, killed you. Remember that.

Bookbinder stepped back onto the bridge. Ripple was dead, and it wasn’t going to be for nothing.

‘The Coast Guard is still part of the military,’ Bookbinder said, ‘no matter what the mission is.’

‘Horseshit,’ Bonhomme said. ‘We’re not ready to handle monsters from another dimension.’

Bookbinder took a step back, giving the man his space. A smile slowly blossomed across his face. The more he tried to control it, the more it spread. After a moment, he shook his head and laughed.

Bonhomme blinked. ‘What . . . what’s . . .’

The ship listed and the goblins churned in the water and Bookbinder laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. ‘Sorry about that.’

Bonhomme’s panic gave way to a hint of anger. That was something.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bookbinder said again. ‘It’s just that, this happened to me. I thought it was this big . . . cross to bear, like Job in the Bible. But I get it now.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Bonhomme asked.

‘Do you know what I did before I became your branch LNO?’

‘Only what I heard on the Internet. That you pissed off the government to save that FOB. That you’re some kind of a folk hero.’

Bookbinder laughed again. ‘Right. That’s me, a fucking folk hero. No, skipper, I was a J1. I pushed paper. Before I came up Latent, I’d never pulled a trigger off a range. And then came FOB Frontier. First I had to fight. Then I had to lead. I was suddenly responsible for thirty thousand men and women and a couple of billion dollars of equipment in the middle of a war zone. I kept shaking my fists at the sky, and crying, “I wasn’t trained for this! I’m the admin guy!” I compared my insides to other people’s outsides. I kept thinking that the 11B types around me were spit out into the world steel-eyed and ready to kill.

‘And now I’m standing here looking at you, salty as hell, running cutters for what? Ten years?’

Bonhomme’s eyes narrowed. ‘Thirteen.’

‘Thirteen years.’ Bookbinder nodded. ‘Master of his element. I’m realizing that
everyone
has this experience. All of a sudden, you’re in the hot seat, and you feel like a fucking fraud. Am I right?’

Bonhomme said nothing.

‘Of course I’m right. But that’s everyone. We’re all frauds. We’re all just pretending that we know what we’re doing. The trick is to pretend so well that you convince yourself long enough to get through the rough spot.

‘This is your crucible moment, only you can’t see it because you’re in it.’ He reached out and gently put his hands on Bonhomme’s shoulders again. ‘But I can see it. Because I just went through it myself. And I can tell you, the guy who comes out on the other side isn’t going to recognize the guy you are now. But that guy needs the guy you are now to pull the fuck together. You can do this. Believe me. I know.’

Bonhomme stared.

‘I was a paper-pusher, skipper, and I saved a division. You clean buoys for a living? Fine. You can save this ship.’

He stepped back, folded his arms. ‘Now, skipper. I’m a landlubber. You’re the cutterman. Tell me how we get out of here.’

Bonhomme shook his head, looked at the deck. ‘Engines at full can do sixteen knots, depending on how bad they’re damaged.’

‘Why are we . . . leaning over like this?’

‘Listing,’ Bonhomme corrected him. ‘Could be a flooded compartment. Could be level problems with the ballast tanks. Could even be that a lot of gear slid around when we got hit. Question is whether or not we’re taking on water. I’ll know as soon as Rodriguez gets the report from engineering.’

Keep him talking
. ‘Okay. So, what if the goblins come back?’

Bonhomme frowned. ‘I can put the rifles in the radar mast, they should be able to sight down the bow from there. I can put a rifle in each of the boat cranes to cover the stern. Keep the shotguns and pistols on the hatches into the superstructure.’

Bonhomme was warming to the task. ‘We’ve got the Mark-79 flares, and those are practically incendiary bullets right there. The Mark-127’s would probably start a nice fire if the bad guys are packed onto the deck . . .’ He looked up at Bookbinder’s blank expression. ‘They’re illumination flares, burn hotter than hell. We use them to light up the water when we’re searching for people.’

‘Right,’ Bookbinder said. ‘How many do we have?’

‘Depends on how much water we’ve taken on and where, but either way, not enough.’

They both went silent at that.

Bonhomme looked up suddenly, eyes widening. ‘OC!’

‘Okaaaay,’ Bookbinder drawled.

‘Sorry. Oleoresin Capsicum. Pepper spray. We use it on boardings.’

‘I know what pepper spray is. I don’t think you’re going to get away with handcuffing those goblins, skipper.’

Bonhomme smiled. ‘You ever been exposed?’

Bookbinder shook his head. He’d been shot at, blown up, punched, kicked, and even stabbed, but nobody had ever sprayed him with OC.

Bonhomme’s smile widened. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking, sir. It’s like having your skin held to a hot frying pan for hours, while your eyes are filled with ground glass, and you suffocate.’

‘So? They just jump in the water.’

‘It doesn’t wash off, sir. The only thing that helps is time, and while they’re flailing, we’re shooting.’

Now it was Bookbinder’s smile that widened. ‘I like the way you think. But I’m guessing you’re going to have to get closer than you’d like to be able to blast them in the face with it.’

‘Well, they’re aquatic, right? Like fish or frogs or whatever?’

Bookbinder shrugged. ‘Looked like it.’

‘That means membranous skin, gills. A puff of this stuff anywhere on their bodies should drive them fucking insane.’

Bookbinder nodded. ‘Again, how much do we have?’

‘Not nearly enough, but the canisters have a . . . thirty-foot range or so. Provided we’re watching the wind, we can shower them with it.’

‘Area-effect weapon.’

‘It’s crude, but I think it could work.’

Bookbinder glanced over Bonhomme’s shoulder and through the bridge windows. The
Giffords
’s overturned hull was streaked with blood where sailors had climbed up and been dragged back down. The aft lifted slightly higher out of the water, the giant bladed screws of the azipod thrusters sticking up in the air.

The water around the overturned vessel had stopped churning, the goblins having dealt with their prey and now turning toward the
Breakwater
. As Bookbinder watched, the first of them began to swim their way. The huge shape of the leviathan rotated slowly toward them.

‘Skipper, I don’t think we’ve got a whole lot of time here,’ Bookbinder said.

Marks and Rodriguez ran onto the bridge. ‘Number two motor is down,’ she rattled out breathlessly. ‘There’s some flooding in the stores, and the bilges overflowed, but they’re pumping it out. We’re leveling the ballast tanks now.’ Even as she spoke, Bookbinder could feel the
Breakwater
trimming up beneath him, the giant crane boom pointing straighter into the air.

Marks glanced over at the console and tapped the radios. ‘That wave must have banged up the mast. VHF is down. No comms. The radar antennae are still spinning.’

Bonhomme nodded. ‘Get us underway and back to Sector, fast as she can go.’ He turned to Bookbinder. ‘That won’t be very fast, limping on one engine.’

Marks nodded and shouted out into the passageway. A moment later, boots banged outside, and a helmsman ran onto the bridge, taking up position. Bookbinder felt the muscles in his back relax ever so slightly as the bridge regained the attitude of a command center. They were still in trouble, but at least now they had a chance.