Chapter 9

Never So Few

Earhardt Kimmel ran—then jogged— then ran again for an hour before stopping. All the while he watched the relayed view of what he now knew to be an alien attack on the Federation outpost. No evidence he was being followed and the view from the compound sensors was black. Kimmel turned up the gain but got back only static. Nothing to do now but worry.

He would have to go back in a bit when his curiosity overcame his caution, but that could wait a few days. He had plenty of food and knew where he could get more, if the cache at the nearest weather station had not been destroyed. He saw the flaring exhaust when the lander departed.

* * *
The Earth born survivors of the Chelmu attack on Alkes-3 were having a hard time adjusting to their increased weight, all but for Bigman Edgerton, who appeared to be handling it without strain,. Two had died before the Chelmu running this ship, the Ki-Tigan, cut back the acceleration to under two Earth G’s and the language instruction began.

Everyone, even Bigman, had trouble adjusting to the attitude and demand for instant obedience in all things that any of the Aliens expected and enforced so easily with the press of a button. It had not taken long for them to come up with the proper nerve stimulus, though in the process another died and Bordeaux would never be much use for anything ever again. That left nine mostly functional humans and Bordeaux working on learning the Alien’s language in the Ki-Tigan’s hold. The Ethiopian Nukumba was coming around. He looked like he was going to survive a while longer.

The alien they dealt with for more than half of their instructional time was named Remel Henita, the other, the one also bothering to learn the humans speech, was called Heplar Sinktaw Henita. They were both squat, just over five feet tall, and always suited when personally in the hold. The only way to tell one from the other was by the three clan markings on their envirosuit.

When the Chelmurians entered the prison-hold they first passed through an airlock. A slight hint of ammonia came in with them every time the hatch opened. The humidity of atmosphere inside of the hold was very low. Certainly to keep the Alien’s envirosuits from icing up. They seemed to radiate cold!

The visors covering half of the suit’s bulbous helmets stayed opaquely golden in this light, hiding a view of the wearers face, but Bigman and the rest knew what they looked like by now.

Thick, obviously muscled bodies, torso and limbs covered by a hairless wrinkled gray skin. Perched atop a short neck, the features of the overlarge head were human like but with overly large eyes and a single horizontal slit where a man’s nose would have been. The mouth was in the usual place but lacked lips. They had a double row of teeth only the outermost visible unless they opened their mouths very wide, something that based on their anatomy must be rare and uncomfortable. There hand hands had only three fingers, and an opposable thumb, blunter than human digits but not strikingly so like the rest of the Chelmurians bodies.

Their sexual organs seemed to be in the same place as humans had their own located, but they were covered by folds of skin in all the pictures the prisoners had seen to date. They could not tell male from female, if that was the sexual make up, from the visual record.

It was possible they were only seeing one gender or that the Chelmurians only had one, too little information to go upon to figure that out. The hold did contain a toilet based on the Chelmu pattern, water replacing the normal working fluid, uncomfortable but usable.

The instructional material used in the language lessons was mostly pictorial from the start. It made sense that most of the effort went towards learning Chelmurian because the basic lesson material already existed. Bigman thought it must derive from what the Chelmu themselves used to teach their young. It was amazing how much of a language one could learn in a week with survival at stake. These days were thirty hours long. Chelmu revolved that much slower than Earth did.

“I do use your speak, you do will speak Chelmu,” Heplar Sinktaw Henita was getting better all the time and now his intent was almost always evident as his grammar improved daily. Bigman and Rastinsjani Vaswan were both seated on the deckplates while the alien stood in front of them. Bigman would have kept this contact to himself but he could be the next to die and Rastinsjani was the best of all the others to take over if that was to happen.

Bigman had made it clear to Vaswan that he would do most of the talking, Rastinsjani to answer only if directly addressed. He had told Doyle to stay away from the English speaking Heplar and concentrate on his Chelmurian lessons. Doyle protested at first but not for long. In any confrontation with Bigman, he was bound to lose.

Heplar spoke, speakers rendering his words in a bass rumble but at normal speed, “We come to Chelmu soon. A small part of one day’s time. You on Ki-Tigan will stay. We of Chelmu build for you a house on the/our planet. There you will stay in time.”

Bigman’s Chelmurian was equally stilted, he spoke as best he could and the ships translator program relayed his words. Bigman could hear that output and the immediate feedback showed he really was getting better as he picked up more and the language’s underlying structure.

“The gravity on your planet is much more than we are used to. It may kill us all if we have to live with it for an extended period of time.”

“Preparations we will make. You will feel less heavy. That is why it does/takes this longer time. Now you will speak more about the ship from your planet Earth. You will hide nothing. You will tell in all ways the truth.” Heplar Sinktaw needed this information, his life also depended on getting it right, delivering the truth. Etramel and Philomel played on part of the Chelmu’s ongoing power struggle, Heplar’s faction played another. They were all Henita, descendants of Decision Master Condish Kuimur.

“You will speak one more time about the internal arrangements of the ship from your planet Earth. I/we find it hard to believe a ship of such size has so little in the way of armament.”

* * *
On board Colony Cargo ship Africa, the Captain and the Navigator’s numbers agreed. Configured for passengers; the Africa was on a course now aligned with the transfer point. Her reactionless drive was of no use in the final course corrections before jump. One-third lightspeed introduced too many relativistic complications for a ship to reliably pass through such a small volume of space.

At drive speeds, should a navigational error that caused them to miss the jump-point, it would add days to the trip. Days spent determining precisely the ship’s new location in relation to the jump-point, and all of the relative motions involved. Then they would have to kill the velocity difference and plot another pass. Best by far to get it right the first time.

On departure from Earth, with transit position and the relative velocities known, it only took a few star plots to fix the final course. The system checks after cutting the drive to dial in the final course corrections made sure that the ship was ready in all respects. Detection of the weak Cerenkov radiation emanating from the point was the final confirmation and they had that now.

The drive needed to switch back on as they passed through the point or they would coast right through without making any kind of jump at all. That part was all under computer control and both men, as they waited out the last few seconds, were glad of it. The Captain made the standard jump announcement and most all of the colonists were watching the star view relayed from the ships sensors. It was going to be an entirely different picture in a matter of seconds.

****

Yuri Kadalov was quietly sitting in the combination Den/Living room of his one bed apartment intent of his computer screen. He had final exams coming up and passing them was vital to his future. He had given up a lot to get out to the Colonies and He intended to make the most of it. He was startled to hear a knock at the door.

Looking through the peephole (it was that old an apartment) he saw the Badge of a New Texas Ranger presented under the face of what he knew in a glance was a hardened old NCO. He opened the door with trepidation.

“Mr. Kadalov, Deputy Dave Roberts here, also the Head of Security for Webb Enterprises. It is the latter that brings me here.

“Webb is considering offering you a job if you hit your finals like they think you will. Based on that I was asked to do a routine background check on you.”

“Hey, I never asked to be involved with Webb in any way. Point of fact, I have sent resumes to everyone but them!”

“I have no doubt but, grades like yours in the field you are in will get the Big Dog looking at you. No matter why you have hit my radar screen and in both capacities I have to follow up.

“Let’s start with that name. You and I both know that that man died on Earth!”

“Yes, he was my father’s roommate at the nursing home and I scammed his credentials when he died and paid good money to get the picture changed!”

“I can buy that but, there is no record of that name boarding the flight you came in on. That is another odd point, care to explain?”

“Easy, the gentleman across the hall had died the week before. I did the same thing to his credentials. Hell, I had been planning this for five years.”

“You are filling in most of the blanks in a way that I might buy but, now we get to the clincher. What’s your real name and how did you get this?” Dave then produced a flat printout of the scan of the case with the gun and the spare mags.

“How did you, never mind; I knew Tech out here was better than Earth. That’s a Family heirloom, it belonged to my Great-to the something-Grandfather. It was about the only thing I wanted to bring with me, that is all the family I have left.”

“Son, I don’t care about the gun. I want to know how you got that case?”

“UH, well I stole it from work the day I cut out. My name is, don’t laugh please, Yuri Smith. I was a Major in the FG Police Special Squads. Yeah that’s right, I was essentially a hit man; the only thing that kept me around was Mom and Dad’s health care.

“Don’t give me shit about that mom and dad already deserved their care under FG Law. When the Redmond’s and the Islamic Confederation want you in a job the rules disappear. The fucking law in the FG is what those two say it is.

“I guess you want the gun, right?”

“I told you once, I don’t care about the gun. I want that case in a Dyn-Corp lab for analysis. Sure we beat this but, it will give us a hint on where the next generation of their Tech is going.” In Dave’s ear came a burst transmission on Channel 3. “Dave he’s clean, according to the CO both Redmond and the Confederation have a ‘Wanted: Dead’ notice out on him in Black channels. Boss was right, He’s a runner.”

“Son,” Dave asked, “you got any ammo for that shooter?”

“Hell no, FG chemical sensors can beat even that case. If we were supposed to use something like that out here we were to get our ammo from Government House. They would ship it out in the Diplomatic Bag. Which as we know is anything that comes out to the Colonies!”

“As I well know Son, tell you what I will make you a deal. Come see me next Monday at say 2:00 PM and I will swap you that case for a new colonial case and three or four bricks of ammo. If you pass your exams, I will set up your interview with Freehold for 3:00 PM. That way you have a nice little preset cover.”

“Freehold, I am not that good!”

“Funny…. they think you are. Whatever happens with your finals, you will interview with some level of Webb at 3:00 PM on Monday, if you show up at my place at 2:00.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then Son, I send a Webb to find you!” Dave stood and walked out, down the hall and the stairs to the street.

“What do you think Liam?”

“He looks clean from what I can get. Of course, what I can get off of that remote package you are wearing ain’t the greatest. Monday I will peel him like an Onion!”

“If he shows up Liam!”

“Well, you wanted answers.”

****

Edward Jorgensen could not wait to report to his Boss with what he had learned on this out and back to New Texas and New Masada followed by his annual Reserve Training Session; Paul Greene had to hear about this. Four hours later he was in the Boss’s office and reporting.

“Paul you just will not believe this shit, when that guy came on our ship I thought I had a medical emergency looking for a place to happen. The first five days out I swear he did nothing but eat and sleep. Hell, when he came on board he looked like death warmed over. After those five days he started hitting the gym for the crew. At the first long layover we had to take on new weights for the gym, he was maxed out.

“Shit when he hit the planet he spent the first week I know of running. He started putting on field gear and upped the weight load every session. What the fuck is he doing?”

“Eddie, many years ago I stared the Wolf right in the face and started us down this path. Since that time we have seen the Engineer and the Businessman work his miracles. That phase I think is over, the Wolf is out here to get his edge back and buck up the troops. What else seems to bother you Eddie?”

“Yesterday he went over to the training base and asked for issue weapons. Took them out and zeroed them, then ran the qualification course for freaking SOCOM, want to know how he did?”

“I am afraid to ask but, yes I would. As a former target I am more than mildly interested.”

Eddie just gave him a sick grin, ”The question of whether or not the course can possibly be maxed is now answered. It can be and has! Now he wants to go out to Bolthole and we have a class graduating from our fancy new Academy in two days. What’s going on?”

“I have a sneaking feeling Eddie, that we are getting ready to see the Wolf”s cards. And I for one want to be there.”

****

Chris Webb was in his normal environment, slumped in a chair with a huge holograph full of mathematics on the wall.

The room was full of Engineers and Technicians from the Kie Development Board, all of them were scratching their heads over the same problem, the Tachyon Flare when a ship went through a Transit Point. They were having no luck at all!

Chris leaned back and began to recap, “OK, we know that the flare is energy loss through the inefficiency of the field interaction. We can not possibly improve the drive enough in the time we have. I did the math years ago for an absorption field but, the energy that sucker would send back to the ship would blow it to hell and gone. There is just no place to put it!”

Ilan Ramon spoke up from the corner, “Boss, how much can one of the super-cap rings absorb?”

Chris leaned his chair backwards even more and stared at the young man. Named after one of the greatest Fighter Jocks from the old state of Israel who had died in an American shuttle; he had a serious need to do something. Flunking out of the Academy had been a blow to him that he had not yet fully recovered from. The only thing that had saved him had been the Mathematical abilities that the Academy had showcased, psychologically unfit to be a Warrior of any sort; he was however a brilliant researcher. The only problem was that his obsession with his namesake made him prone to take risks. Was that the case here?

After several moments Chris decided that if it was, he would give him his shot here!

“Damn if I know Ilan, the math just does not show the upper limit and we have never been able to charge one to saturation. Oh my God, are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Yep Boss, discharge a ring as far as we can or put a brand new one in a Boyd and give it a try.”

“No Ilan, we put two new ones in and put just enough charge in one ring to make two transitions and send that through. The only problem is finding a Pilot Deck crew to fly it.”

“What about the Engineer slot Chris, who we pick for that?”

Sasaki’s voice rang over the room, “Shut that off right now. Andy was smart enough to give me that authority, you two are not flying that bird. Chris you can bluster all you want, go back and convince Rob Williams. When he gets through handing you your ass you can come back out here and get the bird ready for the test!”

“OK Isao, how do you pick a crew for this anyway?”

“Simple, I ask the 442nd for volunteers!” Even Ilan joined the general laughter that filled the room.

13 days later found Chris and Ilan standing on the control deck of Bolthole I Station desperately waiting for any word from the sensor techs watching the Transition Point. From behind them came the voice of System Commander Isao Sasaki, “Will you two relax? It’s only been two hours, you know the test protocol requires at least 24 before we send something through. Cripes you two are going to be nervous wrecks before we hear anything.”

Chris turned and grinned, “I guess you are right Saki (using his nickname for the first time), it’s just so much rides on this test!”

Isao turned in his chair and grinned back, “Just so Egghead, we can shave years out of the—”

All voices stopped as the speakers rang with a lilting, singsong voice, “System Command come out and playa, wiz be so lonely all biz ourselves. System Command come out and playa!”

The voice suddenly dropped back into the cold controlled tones of LT. Commander Kurt Rorbach Brevort Detachment, Commander of Long Shot One. “System Command, it is our intention to turn this into a full up insertion and destroy test scenario, details as follow.

“In no less than four but no more than twenty two hours we will destroy Asteroid 25,193. Your job is to stop us if you can and ours is to bring it home. My apologies to General’s Sasaki and Webb but, I believe this to be the best way to prove many theories that are in the wind as we speak. Confirm or call Stand Down System Control.”

Chris and Isao stared at each others eyes across the large control room for a long moment, then each face broke into lopsided grins and Isao sat down. “Long Shot One, General Sasaki. Game on in 5,4,3,2,1, MARK. Dammit PEOPLE, we are at War, get your asses in gear. Launch all Ready Boyd’s, start a rotation schedule for ships and crews. Get me two Challengers on line and stuff them with Eagles with three Pilots for each. Dammit this is supposed to be the 442nd, move it maggots.” He stopped only as Chris Webb walked up beside his Command Chair.

“Saki, I better shower, shave and change before I come back here. Damn but this kid is good!”

“That he is Chris, I expect you to be announced when you come back in here, so goddammit look the part.”

“I have not forgotten that part Isao, out of shape I might be but I will play this out. If it works, I am done and am gonna go get back into shape also!”

****

“Mr. Minister,” came the voice over M’butu’s speaker. “His Excellency, Ibn Saud, the Islamic League’s representative is here. Shall I send him right in?” asked the secretary/receptionist over the hushed circuit from the outer office.

“Make him wait. I shall be ready for him in five minutes.” The UN Federation Executive continued making selections for his wine cellar, then looked longingly at a cigar catalog before deciding Ibn Saud should wait no longer. The Islamic League was causing trouble. They felt he did not defer enough to their power, and in fact they were correct. The question was—Could he get away with it? He was betting he could.

Originally, when Bhutros came to lead the Federation, it was with complete League support, a way to demonstrate their dedication to traditional UN law and custom. In reality, at that time, they did control M’butu entirely. Things had changed so gradually over the years he continued in power that the League was finally waking up to the fact that M’butu had become a power in his own right. Something that was increasingly intolerable to the faithful, (as they so described themselves).

“Send him in.”

Bhutros had taken a position by the door to his washroom, and he closed it so the sound could be heard just as outer door opened and the Islamic power broker entered. Keep him guessing about the reason for the delay.

“It is so good to see you again Ibn!” M’butu was acting his part to the fullest as he walked over and embraced the smaller, dark eyed, gray haired and bearded envoy, who was dressed in his traditional robes.

With much more reserve Ibn returned the greeting and took a seat without asking. “It has been too long Bhutros and we have much to talk about.”

He was acting as if he was the one in control here. That remained to be seen, Bhutros internalized.
“I have been busy; the job becomes ever more difficult. And after all our people are in constant communication on their various committees as they seek to work the people’s will.”

“The ‘People’s Will’, is what we of the Islamic League say it is, Ibn rejoined. Moreover, and despite your constant claim of communication, we now have some points of contention that need addressing at once. I am here to enlighten you. Ignore what I say at your peril!”

M’butu’s jovial expression turned to one of concern as he continued with his act, “I had no idea you felt this way! Pray tell? Where are my aims not the same as your own?”

“The points of contention are many! You do not fool us. They range from your appointments, to the extent of your graft, and the increasing public suspicion, if not awareness of it. And they continue to among other things the current colonization policy.”

“Graft you say? Shocked, I am Shocked!” Bhutros felt this conversation was about to change and go the way he wished it to. “While it is true I receive some consideration from the Federation’s off planet interests, the League has a virtual monopoly on what goes on here on Earth and everywhere else outside of the African continent. Why just the returns from the Mars trade are staggering. Far surpassing what we do out system.”

“But the income from off planet is increasing exponentially while the economy on Earth and Mars are stagnating. The colony ship you recently sent to the Alkes-3 is a prime example of the problem. North Americans and Europeans predominate with a sprinkling of your supporters in charge. Only a token Islamic presence. This we find intolerable and it will change!”

“By all means, such has been my intention from the start. That first ship will do the hard work of preparing the planet for those who follow. Next year, on the follow up ship you may choose as many of your own as you wish, and I will cede all responsibility for selection to the League. There is more than enough for all of us that we need not quibble over minor details.”

Bhutros felt that such a broad declaration would distract from the fact that the newest colony would be many year in paying a dividend, and when it did, with his control of the rest of the off planet trade, his position would be most secure. By that time Jamil should have locked up the out systems and all the profit that went with them. It was just a matter of time.

“I hear you Bhutros, but we demand specific actions at once, beginning with regular meetings and an observer in your offices—one of our selection.”

“But of course. That is no problem at all. Who might you suggest?”

“Me!—And this is really no suggestion. It is a Commandment!”

“I would be honored,” Bhutros said smoothly, reverting to his earlier tone. And

Ayatollah Huseini sat pondering the ramifications of the detailed report concerning Ibn Saud’s meeting with M’butu. Clearly something more needed doing than just watching as the situation developed. M’butu was an idolater, worshiping nothing so much as the pleasures of the flesh. But yes, there was one more thing he worshiped, his son Jamil. M’butu needed to be taught a lesson. Jamil was just the stick to beat him with. The Ayatollah called for the League’s security chief Yemeni.

“And so Yemeni I want Jamil M’butu to pay the price for his father’s ambition.”

“It will not be easy. He is on New Texas and the League has no real presence there. We operate through the normal apparatus of the UN bureaucracy when it comes to off-planet affairs. If we do so in this case Bhutros is sure to find out in advance. If I send someone to handle this they will likely be identified and questioned. Again, M’butu will know and may even try and stop us. Are we willing to bring our fight out into the open?”

“No, not now. But I have given some thought to your problem. I think you might profitably call upon New Texas for some assistance here.”

“I know Oliver Magnum, the chief of their ever so thinly disguised intelligence agency here on Earth, but why would he or anyone on New Texas help us?”

“The Enemy of my Enemy is my friend. That could be enough, and then too— this Magnum may well be open for other inducements. I shall leave all this to you. But I will have action!”

“Why such secrecy?” Oliver Magnum asked Sharif Yemeni after the ship left the dock; they were the last two to board and so obviously could not have been followed. “I could just have easily met you at the League office in the UN building. It would have saved both of us time.”

Leaning against the upper deck rail Yemeni said, “I have always wanted to visit this Boblo Island. Did you know that this is not the first time this place has been built up as an amusement park?” It was used in just such a fashion some four hundred years ago. But that was before the Capitalists shut it down, tore out the rides, and made it a luxury development for the rich. Now it is the peoples once more. Allah must be pleased.”

“I hadn’t heard that story before, it must have been losing money. And being on a ferry boat in the middle of the Detroit River during the middle of the week, surrounded by children and their teachers—well it’s a fine way to make sure we are not overheard, but it does seem excessive. Go ahead, tell me what is it you want and I might begin to enjoy the view.”

“The League has—certain difficulties—with the present course being taken by the Federation Executive. We could intervene and solve this problem directly, but the disruption to society, and especially to those branches outside of the home system would not be pleasant to us or the people on New Texas. This is what we want done. . .”

“That’s how it went Hank, Yemeni told me that the Ayatollah wanted Jamil dead, or so thoroughly discredited as too make his father wish that was the case. Gave me this data cube and a one-way ticket home, said I was never to set foot again on Earth until the problem was solved.”

Hank Carling looked over to Emmet Clark who just shrugged and turned up his hands. “Lot of help you are,” Hank said, “Andy’s away doing the soldier thing and Ditmars is out at Bolthole. We better get hold of Rob Williams and see what he has to say. This is going to take some thought and some serious planning.

****

Muriel sat slump shoulder over the drafting board intent on the stack of plans before her.  She could see no other changes that needed to be made, it was time to put this thing to bed.  Then the room behind her erupted in noise through a door that had been locked with her personal code.

Spinning with her left hand clawing for the FG proscribed gun over her kidney, she saw her three eldest piling in through the door with bottles, backpacks, sidepacks and  dollies in tow behind them.  All three of the Idiots screaming at the top of their lungs, “Happy Our Birthday Mom!”

“What are you three hoodlums doing out here?”

“Mom,” Meghan answered for the group, “it’s been six years since we were all together on our birthday.  We figured it might be our last chance for about as long again.  Besides Dad said it might be a good idea to have the whole family off of New Texas and no he did not say why.  I think it’s one of  his hunches again.”

“Kids, I don’t care!  I was just thinking that this was about all wrapped up and what to do next, I guess a couple of days for a party sounds about right.  Say, your ‘Aunt Liza’ is on planet, want to invite her?”

“Sure”, was the chorused response.

By that evening the kids and a horde of workers from the hospital had turned the main conference room into party central.  The mood was light and people were ready to celebrate, right until Liza walked into the room.  The eyes of four Webb’s snapped to the body language and three heads stared at their Mother with a nod of same.

Moments later Muriel had Liza in her office and setting down as the triplets filed in.  Mack was the speaker, “OK, Aunt Liza, what is the problem?”

“What do you mean Mack, I’m fine?”

What Liza called a walking wall knelled in front of her. “Aunt Liza, don’t try to lie to a bunch of kids you helped raise.  Much less a bunch of Commandos trained to read Human Emotions as part of our job.  You are either scared to death or ready to kill someone or something.  Let us help!”

Liza dropped her head into her hands and seemed to shudder, when she came up the look on her face had changed.  It was one of fear underlain by raging hot anger, “I am afraid it is both Mack, you three remember Lacy Crawford that I sponsored to Travis Central from out of here?”

The three just nodded, “Sure, her brother got to Travis on that LEO Scholarship but the family could not afford her’s so Lone Star tossed her one also.”

“That’s her and she decided to stay in the business and was pretty good at it, good enough that Ric and I hired her to run the Brevort branch.  We have had nothing but gang and mob labor problems getting it built.  Well, sometime between closing last night and open this morning the rat SOB’s kidnapped her.  They sent me her signet ring and finger tip, they want 10 million for her return!”

“What about her brother Liza, he’s only the top Cop.  That’s why they sent him to that school, remember.”

Then the hate really dripped from Liza’s voice, “Hell, he knows where she’s at and cannot get a warrant from that damned crooked Judge, that the FG Governor has under his bribe taking slimy thumb.”

Muriel was the one to break the silence, “Damn Liza, that well and truly sucks swamp water.  You want some help?”

“What I really wish was that I could hire someone to tear their damn hearts out and show them to the Bastards before they died Muriel.”

“Come on Liza, I don’t feel much like a party right now.  I’ll walk you home and hang around for the night.”  As she escorted the shaking in anger Liza towards the door, her head turned and nodded once, very firmly.

****

“Crawford Here!”

“Well if isn’t the Super Cop himself!”

“Good Lord, the Ice Princess of New Texas herself.  To what do I owe this honor?”

“Mom wanted me to get you to come over to the hospital and accept the new console for your 911 Operator here.  Might as well get it done while my clumsy brothers are here to help. Besides, I have a distinct feeling it might get some use real soon.”

Yeah…… I have been needing that desk for a while now.  Mind if I bring Tomas Sanchez with me, he’s on leave but he’s over here stealing my beer and calling it keeping me company?”

“The whole Brevort lonely hearts club at once, yeah sure bring him over!”

Three Hours Later

“Thanks Guys, now Bob you had better take this ‘Official Looking’ paperwork and get out of here.  You need to be some place very public when this shit goes down!”

“Thanks Mark, I guess I will go file this shit at Headquarters so the Boss can see it first thing.  No one will question me hanging around and bugging the duty shift anyway.  For God’s sake, bring her home you Guy’s and of course Gal’s.”

Meghan was the one who answered, “Go on Romeo, this one touches on the Honor of us all.  She comes home and damn the rest!”

As Robert Crawford exited the door Mack spoke up, “OK, let it be understood at the Bar the Lopez brothers get extracted.  I think a threat against their Momma is enough to clear them.  At the warehouse only Lucy comes out.  This is a Sanctioned Covert Action by the Provisional Government of the Colonies ordered at the General Staff level.”

“Mark, I have to ask for the record.  Who is the Ordering Authority?” Tomas asked.

“Lieutenant General Muriel Webb, Deputy Chief of Staff, Medical,” barked Mark.

“Damn, sounds good to me.  Load up people, on the marks in 30 minutes!”

****

Robert Crawford was sleeping at his desk when the duty Sergeant came pounding at the door, “Sir, they found your Sister and the alert teams are rolling to what looks like two War Zones!”

“Shit, where is my sister and what are you talking about?”

“She got dumped in front of the new hospital wrapped in a blanket, bound and blindfolded.  The warehouse at 4565 Mercado Drive just got taken apart, there are 6 bodies there.  It’s worse at the Lopez Cantina, the Lopez Brothers are on their way to the hospital out cold and there are 17 bodies there.
“The MS-13 Wantabe’s seem to have made enemies andfucking Big Time!”

“Pardon me Sergeant if I don’t shed any tears, more important is how is my sister?”

“Scared, hysterical and crying on Liza Morgan’s shoulder!”

“Let’s get to the Command Center Sergeant!”  Robert said, all the while thinking to himself; never, ever piss off the Royal Family of SOCOM; not when they had Honor and the Right on their side.

Page Author | Wes November 12th, 2008

Comments