Labyrinth: Contact
He was cold. The ground underneath him was damp and stones jabbed up into his belly as he slithered forwards, uncertain of what he would see over the ridge. In the darkness he could see almost nothing, and his hearing expanded until every motion he made sounded explosive, sure to attract attention. To his right was Blair, moving forward, a little behind him, crawling in eerie silence. At the edge they both paused. Jim didn't so much as glance at his friend, he needed to concentrate, and the sweet face marked with camouflage streaks, lined with worry and old pain would only distract him.
A tentative hand brushed over his shoulder, letting it rest lightly across the strap of Jim's backpack. "Concentrate, big fellow. What can you hear? How many are they? How close?"
"Nine of them, Chief. Two here, three on the gate, four inside with the rest of them. I'll go in under the fence. It's easier than making a racket out the front." The sound of Jim's voice was a shock in the still, and he wondered why Blair's had not echoed as much, before shaking off his confusion.
"Keep your senses open - you can hear them - now see them? What are they doing?"
Jim tensed, and frowned. Rationality caught up with him, and he shook his head trying to shake out the dead man's whisper from his ears. "I almost thought you were there, Chief..." He sighed, "I thought I was over this.." He closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath, then letting out again, slowly and painfully. A hint of a word might have been on that long breath, perhaps Blair... or I miss you... but nothing so clear. If he let himself he could almost hear--
"Jim?"
But it wasn't there, it wasn't real.
"Jim?"
The big man glanced uneasily around. Perhaps one of his team had followed him onto the high bluff, despite his orders.
"Sandburg? You -- nah." He dismissed the idea, the sound, sure it couldn't be true. Not letting himself believe it might be true.
Instead he raised himself onto his elbows, just high enough to see over the edge of the land. He rolled quickly and quietly, covered by the stingers and high grasses that someone's overconfidence had left to grow.
The skin tight suit under his clothes clung, hot and sticky to his body, but he smiled. He had lain in this hollow for ten minutes, and the grass under him was as cool as when he had first touched it. The savings in night goggles and binoculars had allowed the refrigeration plant strapped to his back, and he grinned savagely as he felt the infra red sweep across his back checking for warmth outwith the fences.
The guards saw nothing, and he slowly eased forward, so patient that his motion was imperceptible. A couple of clicks in his ear told him that his second was in position, and a few seconds later the rest of the men had called in, the crackles and pops that others would read only as interference a message as clear as a bell to his well trained team. He acknowledged and gave the order to move in.
Around the barricades he knew, as surely as if he could see them, his men were drifting closer. Quietly wires were attached to the electric fences, shorting the signal around the cutting area. A hole, close to the ground and barely large enough for a mouse, much less a man was slit through the heavy wire. Like shadows they slipped though the compound. A man appeared in front of Jim, and he pulled him into the darkness, wringing his neck letting him drop out of view, checking after that he hadn't killed one of his team. A feral grin at the thought of any of his team being fool enough to cross his section, and he disappeared back into the darkness.
Somewhere off to the east quarter, bones snapped, and the grin grew teeth. Danson must have run into a patrol too. No outcry or alarm broke the air, and he relaxed back into the task at hand.
Target A: a small building towards the rear of the compound was already occupied. Myerson and Fielding were in situ, the communications matrix capitulating to their overrides and instruments without so much as a whimper; two dead bodies on the floor, another one rolled under the raised building the only markers of any struggle.
Death stalked through the encampment. They had more than an hour before anyone would expect either a checkin or a patrol change. They would be long gone by then.
Jim dropped a small vial into the main water tower. The soluble plastic would melt in minutes, and in twenty four hours, everyone drinking, showering, even splashing their face in the noonday heat would be dead -- and another twenty four hours would see no trace left of the poison in the water or the victims.
A wolf growled softly at him as he dropped lightly to the ground. He shook his head, "No option. They *are* the bad guys..." he murmured, and the rough fur brushed under his hand until he glanced down. Nothing there.
He could hear Friedricksen muttering, "Big guy's losing it again," from halfway up the hill, outside the compound keeping watch on the mission and in touch with base.
Ellison grinned. There was another one who hadn't really believed the briefing, and who'd only heard the disadvantages, not the advantages of having a Sentinel on your side. He made a mental note to update Friedricksen as soon as the opportunity arose.
In the distance he could hear the dull roar and thump of heavy artillery in action. Here, far behind enemy lines, they had no idea that they were not safe. Tomorrow the emplacements would be silent, as the communications broke down. As the army arrayed against them died, wiped out with weapons that no one believed they would ever use. Somewhere out there, other teams were duplicating his success, and taking down the enemy with the least threat to American lives as possible.
A year, maybe more ahd passed since Blair 'died'. He knew perfectly well what they had expected, and had obliged them with deepened silence and a tense jaw for the anniversary. Sometimes he wondered if they knew that he knew. He huffed a noiseless laugh. Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn't. The point was, *he* knew. And more than that, his year had given him allies and information.
Perhaps it was treachery, what he had planned. The meet was set to take place as soon as he was posted back to tactical command. It wouldn't take long, and if the information he had been promised was worth the deal he'd made with the devil, then he would act.
A sequence of clicks told him the team was breaking out of the target, and he nodded. THey'd become a good, solid unit. He was sorry they were all going to die the next time that the army sent them out. dead was better than AWOL - at least, until they figured it out it was. And by then he was pretty sure that their contingency plans would save them.
He nodded in acknowledgement as Henderson, the last man back, slid noiselessly into place. Quick gestures, and they were on the move. Six days back to unit base, another three to operations and tactical. His smile let a flicker of light reflect. Nine days then.
|
The Labyrinth: Jim: Contact |
||
Magnificent Seven stories, Sentinel stories, Star Trek Voyager stories, The Ragbag
Page last updated 21:42 28/03/2006.