A Deeper Blue

Chapter Five

“That’s a hell of a story.”

Britney was sipping a glass of white wine after turning down the offer of a beer. Mike was working on a glass of tea.

“And most of it pretty highly classified,” Britney added.

“Oh, hell, you know the big part,” Mike said. “And I left a few details out.”

“Including what I’m doing here,” Britney said. “What you’re doing here.”

“You’re here because my field second and my intel chief got shot up in an ambush aimed at me,” Mike replied. “So I needed somebody familiar with the intel flow we’re getting.”

“Why weren’t you there?” Britney asked, frowning. “I’d have expected you to go right in charging.”

“I might have,” Mike admitted. “But I had decided to… sit this one out.”

“Again, not what I’d expect,” Britney said. “Not from Mr. ‘No, you can’t be Flower.’ ”

“I’d forgotten that,” Mike said, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Good times.”

“Says you,” Britney said, shuddering. “I still have nightmares about being put on that table. Why?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“And who taught me that?”

“Long story.”

“You just told me a long story,” the intel specialist said. “And clearly some of the details you left out were important.”

“Not anymore,” Mike stated, flatly. “I’ll introduce you to my intel chief, well, assistant chief. She’s female, speaks excellent English. I’ll get you briefed in on the mission, then you can get to work trying to find some nuggets.”

“And if I do?” Britney asked.

“Then I get to do my job.”

Britney’s new guide was a pretty, no beautiful, brunette, tall and leggy but with a nice bust. Also slightly pregnant. That was obvious because she was wearing tight blue shorts and a tight, sleeveless T-shirt with a tiger logo on the back and “Mountain Tigers” on the front. Above the logo, just under the collar, was the name “Stella.” In one of the corridors the two were confronted by a massive blond guy dressed pretty much the same way. Handsome as hell. Hell, everyone she’d seen was physical perfection. This guy wasn’t quite perfect in that he was missing one leg from above the knee down. He was wearing shorts so it was pretty obvious. He’d apparently been walking the corridor for exercise and stood to the side as the two came down the passageway.

Britney could feel his eyes on her as they passed. The guy was a fucking mountain. It was nervous making. She wasn’t sure if he was checking her out but she felt more like he was judging her. On what she wasn’t sure.

“Who was that?” she whispered when they’d turned the corner.

“Oleg,” the girl replied in accented English. “Team commander.”

“Still?” Britney asked. “With the leg?”

“It is a very good prosthetic,” the girl said. “German. It has some sort of spring in the knee. He says that it makes him run better than before. He intends to be in full form by the time we have a mission.”

“How’d he lose it?”

“Last mission. It was very bad. A mortar landed near his position. His leg was… What is right English word? Mangled? Yes, I think mangled is right. Had to cut it off so he could keep fighting.”

“Keep fighting?” Britney asked, incredulous.

“He was team commander,” the girl said, pausing and looking at Britney quizzically. “He had to lead, yes? Could not lead with the pain of the leg. So Dmitri cut it off for him. They were in fighting positions, he didn’t have to walk, run. Only fight and lead, yes? So… cut it off. Now he has new leg.”

“Go Oleg,” Britney muttered. And she’d thought Delta was hardcore. No wonder Gho… Mike fit right in.

The intel room was in the bowels of the ship and Britney could smell it had been freshly painted. From the look, it was in copper shield paint. Expensive but nearly as good as a full Faraday cage for a shield room.

The room was filled with computers and women. Like her guide, they were all very good looking and dressed in the same uniform. The effect was sort of overwhelming. Britney was used to being the prettiest girl in an intel shop. This was hell.

“This is the new liaison,” the girl said in English.

One of the girls said something in that other language. Britney got enough to catch “last longer.” It was close enough to Russian. Maybe Georgian, Mike had said that he lived in Georgia and that these were his… retainers. Strange term to use for your troops.

“I’m Greznya,” one of the girls said, coming over and shaking her hand. “Welcome to Chaos Central.”

“It always is,” Britney said.

“I’m Stella, by the way,” her guide said, then said something to Greznya. Something about the Kildar, meaning Mike.

“Interesting,” Greznya said, looking her up and down curiously. “She looks like a Kildar girl, yes?”

“If you mean one of his former girlfriends,” Britney said in Russian. “I’m not.”

“You knew him, though,” Greznya said, still in Russian. “Before.”

“Yes,” Harder replied. “And that is about all I can say on the subject.”

“Come, sit,” Greznya said, showing her to a chair. “Would you care for some tea?”

“An in-brief would be preferred,” the lieutenant said. “Gh… The Kildar didn’t even tell me what the mission is.”

“I won’t ask what the other name was,” Greznya said, politely. “But before I brief you in, I must tell you something.”

“I stepped through a looking glass and this is all a dream?” Britney said, taking a cup of tea from one of the girls.

“No, Alice,” Greznya replied. “It is something about the Kildar. He has recently lost someone. Someone important to him.”

“Is that why he was going to sit out this mission?” Britney asked.

“Yes,” the Keldara replied. “And then Adams, who has known him for many years, and Sergeant Vanner who, I think, is something like a son to him, they were both very injured. He feels much guilt for this. And for the other, too. You know the thing Nietzsche said about the abyss?”

“Yes,” Britney replied. She was having a hard time with disjunction. Yesterday she’d been perusing reports on Colombian drug smugglers. This afternoon she was sipping tea in an intel shop in the bowels of a multimillion dollar yacht and discussing Nietzsche.

“The Kildar exists on the edge of the abyss,” Greznya said. “But for as long as he has looked at it, has dabbled at its edges and stuck his foot in, he has never entered the abyss. Or at least not that he could not swim out. Now he is in the abyss. He is being sucked down by it. He is drowning in it. If he becomes the abyss, well… We have had Kildars who ate their meals surrounded by dead bodies, for the pleasure of the company. We will, as you say, adapt and overcome. But I’m not sure the world will.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Britney asked.

“If you can draw him back from the abyss,” Greznya said, “that would be a very good thing. For us, yes, but for many other people. You remind him of… good times, I think.”

“I don’t,” Britney said, setting down her cup, then reconsidering. That was exactly what Mike had said: “Good times.” What kind of a crazy man considered holding off a battalion of commandoes and getting shot very near to death as “Good times.”

The sort that wouldn’t stop until he tracked fifty girls down and freed them. The sort that had kicked her ass into overdrive when she thought she was about packed in. And she could tell what Greznya meant. The man upstairs had been more alive dying than he was now. She’d held his hand, then, dragged his heavy-ass body to cover, listened to him whisper that damned song. “This is my sacrifice…” he had muttered, almost joyous. Much more alive, then, with blood pouring out of him in scarlet rivers and still giving her instructions, his breath sucking in and out through holes in his lungs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Britney said. “But I only met him once and that at… a very bad time in my life. But I owe him… everything. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good,” Greznya said, patting her thigh. “Good. And now, we will brief you in, yes? And you can try to help us with this idiotic database you Americans use.”

“God, not another harem girl.”

Britney looked up at the two women entering the salon and frowned. The two were dissimilar in looks except for being brunette. The shorter one was stocky, with almost a power-lifter’s look and had a gleam in her eye that spelled trouble with a capital T. The taller was more slender as well, not exactly willowy but lighter looking. She also had a milder expression. They were wearing flightsuits and carrying helmets. Ergo they were probably the pilots of the helo.

“I’m not a harem girl. Whatever that means.”

“Dummy, that’s the intel puke we picked up,” the taller one said. “Sorry, term of art,” she continued, walking over to Britney and holding out her hand. “Captain Tamara Wilson, late of the U.S. Marines. Currently… well… They put the handle Valkyrie on me. I usually handle dust-off and supply.”

“Lieutenant Britney Harder,” Britney said, standing up and closing the cover on the folder.

“How much harder?” the shorter one said. “Captain Kacey Bathlick.”

“Do you?” Britney asked, smiling thinly. She’d put up with her last name all her life, after all. The jokes never made sense until she lost her virginity, but she’d heard them long before.

“Point for point,” Wilson said, grinning. “You turn up anything, yet?”

“On what?” Britney asked.

“Ah, I think we need to do some more briefing,” Bathlick said, pulling out a water and sitting down across from her. “This is the way the Keldara manage information. They don’t talk to anybody outside the team. Inside the team, there are zero secrets. So do they have a line on the VX, yet?”

“No,” Britney said. “Nada. Zip. Diddly. And since I’m a professional ‘intel puke’ I have to point out that while they may not talk, this room is not what I’d call secure. But thanks for asking. Now I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot,” Wilson said, sitting down with a diet coke in her hand.

“What’s eating Mike?”

“You’re on first name basis already?” Bathlick asked. “I called him Kildar for a couple of weeks before I remembered he’d told me his name.”

“We’ve met before,” Britney said. “Where is… not an item of discussion. Even in a secure room. Ever.”

“Okay,” Wilson said, nodding. “Interesting. But to answer your question… Jeeze, where to start.”

“The Rite,” Kacey said, taking a gulp of water. “Which is one fucked up thing in my opinion. And I’m all for people screwing.”

“What right?” Britney asked. “A right to what?”

“Rite, R-I-T-E as in religion,” Wilson replied. “The Keldara have some really weird customs—”

“Really weird,” Bathlick interjected. “Really really weird. Like having parties on top of their graveyards…”

“It’s a very ancient and… unusual culture,” Tamara said, shooting a glance at her friend. “Do you know what the right of droit du seigneur is?”

“The…” Britney paused then her eyes widened. “Oh. Not really?”

“Really,” Tamara continued. “The Keldara, though, have sort of made it their own. The girls who are getting married get… presented to the Kildar, first. Keep in mind that they are getting married to his team members. He then gifts them with a dowry which, I understand, was the reason they first gave for it. Mike wasn’t really thrilled with the idea. Okay, virgins, sure, great. But not the fiancées of his team members.”

“I got it,” Britney said, unconvinced. “But he just couldn’t help himself, right?”

“The pressure all came from the Keldara,” Bathlick said flatly. “Tell her the rest.”

“For the Keldara it’s a breeding program,” Tamara continued. “The Kildars have always been warriors for centuries. If they weren’t, apparently they were… taken care of. Quietly. So they’ve been breeding for warriors for generations.”

“And it’s worked,” Kacey said. “They’re about as dangerous as the tiger that’s their totem. More. I swear the kids are like little sharks.”

“But the point is that the Kildar gets first crack,” Wilson said. “And… Have you met Stella yet?”

“Yes?” Britney replied.

“You might have noticed that she’s a bit pregnant,” Tamara said. “Her husband is the guy who guided you from the airport, Vil, one of the team leaders by the way. The child is the Kildar’s.”

“They make sure they’re right at ovulation when they put him to stud,” Kacey said, cackling.

“That’s…”

“Weird,” Tamara said, nodding. “But that’s the Keldara. And it’s apparently worked. Even the women…”

“The women took on a Chechen force of about their own number during the last battle,” Bathlick said. “They slaughtered them, the Chechens then being in prepared defenses. Keldara girls took five dead, about fifteen wounded. And just slaughtered the fedayeen. About a hundred. No quarter. Mostly chopped them up with axes. Then they got out shovels and filled in the trench. That’s the women.”

“The men took on about forty times their number and did much the same thing,” Tamara said. “But we were talking about the Rite of Kardane. That’s what the Keldara call it. Anyway, sometimes things… go wrong.”

“Might have gone right,” Kacey said, looking at her water. “Sometimes I wish this was beer.”

“The Kildar participated in the Rite with a young lady named… Gretchen Mahona,” Tamara said, swallowing and closing her eyes for a moment. “She was our crew-chief.”

“Didn’t have a fucking clue how,” Kacey added. “But God she was willing. And good. Damn she was good.” She took a drink of water and tossed the bottle across the room, dropping the bottle in the trash for three points.

“And unfortunately, the Kildar…”

“Fell in love,” Britney said, connecting the rather obvious dots. “And Gretchen…”

“Got blown all over the inside of the bird by a 12.7,” Kacey said. “Nothing we could do. We were loaded to overweight with wounded and had to… Fuck.”

“We had to fly right through the fire,” Tamara said. “Three bunkers, interlocked. We were moving about as fast as a person could run. Very high altitude, we were only making it on ground effect as it was. She was engaging the bunkers with the mini…”

“And she got blown away,” Kacey said, jerking to her feet and pulling out another bottle of water. “Literally. Made a hell of a mess.”

“The Kildar has not taken this loss well,” Tamara said delicately.

“He went on a two-month bender,” Kacey said bluntly. “Up until yesterday, no, two days before, he was nose deep in a bottle. I’m surprised he was able to recover so fast.”

“Mike’s… got a thing for women,” Britney said.

“Oh really?” Kacey asked. “Do tell? He’s only got a harem of teenaged girls and a harem manager that’s one hell of a fox. I think we were luck of the draw, but…”

“That… wasn’t what I meant,” Britney said. “I shouldn’t have said that much. But… Yeah, I can see that hitting him pretty hard.”

“He’s only here because of Adams and Vanner getting hit,” Tamara continued. “And he feels guilty about that as well.”

“Might have a point,” Kacey said. “I’m not sure that would have gotten him. He’s got the touch. I’ve got it for flying but he’s got it for… shit like this.”

“I’ve heard,” Britney said. “We did a little catching up.”

“You keep dropping these hints,” Kacey said. “He wouldn’t ‘catch up’ with just anybody. Catch up about what? As far as anybody in the Valley knows he just appeared fully formed! Give, girl!”

“I can’t,” Britney said. “Let’s just say that he saved my life and leave it at that, okay?”

“So you gonna save his?” Kacey asked.

“I’d be open to suggestions how,” Britney admitted.

“Screw him,” Kacey said.

“You think that will fix things?” Britney asked, blushing. “I mean, as you mentioned he has… Did you say a harem?”

“Screw him and then get him to open up,” Kacey said, ignoring the question. “He won’t fucking talk about it! He’s gone all macho on everybody. Big boy that doesn’t need to talk. He’s fine. He just needs a drink or two. Or a hundred. He needs to get it off his chest. He won’t talk to Anastasia, he won’t talk to the harem, which is what it’s there for, he won’t talk to even his oldest friends. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

“Methinks my overly testosteroned friend has a point,” Tamara said.

“I’ll… consider it,” Britney said. “Just that. I… don’t have sex with anyone much these days.”

“Some issues there, too,” Kacey said. “Bad boyfriend?”

“Oh… worse than that,” Britney said with a sigh. “And not something I can discuss. I have a counselor. I work with it. But it’s… Heck, most people I could probably talk about it…”

“Hints and hints and hints,” Kacey said. “Thank God I’m not an intel puke; it’d be an itch I couldn’t scratch. Me, I don’t give a fuck. If you can get the Kildar back in shape, more power. If you can’t, at least find me a target.”

“I thought you were the driver,” Britney said, smiling thinly. “The targets are for the guys with guns.”

“You haven’t seen our other bird. By the way, my handle is Dragon.”

“No, I haven’t,” Britney said, distantly. “You did say ‘harem,’ right? I’m sure you said harem…”

Greznya was an intel puke. And she was a good one. She, too, had the “touch,” that special feel for a situation. And hers was ringing bells about the new intel specialist. She had spent a long time with the Kildar but had not been briefed. She knew him from before. She had something for him, something like the Keldara did. She was bonded. But she had said she was not a former girlfriend and she had that look. Whatever had happened it had not been a romantic relationship.

The yacht was rented but it was top-of-the-line and had massive satellite connectivity, including to the internet. The Keldara were tapped into every available database on earth and at the caravanserai Sergeant Vanner, All Father let him live, had built a gigantic server system capable of crunching data as fast as most supercomputers. They also had access to remote data systems, buying time on servers all over the world for anything their in-house system could not manage.

So she ran the name Britney Harder into the query and then on a hunch threw in possible connection words of “terrorism,” “terrorist,” and the various synonyms the Western press preferred such as “militant.”

The system was highly intuitive and used advanced algorithms similar to those used by Google to get likely hits. The response was almost instantaneous and came from, of all things, Lexis/Nexus, the database for the international press.

Greznya found the girl’s name, then went back to the beginning of the article. Then she pulled up other articles about the same event. There were thousands of such; it had been a world-wide event even if the Keldara were unaware of it. But “most read” often did mean the best information and most of it was repetitive. She sorted for some publications she knew were capable of actual in-depth reporting and nodded to herself.

Finally she was done and wiped the search. The search had been sent through two different intermediate routers so she was comfortable that it would not have been traced even if anyone was looking for them. A college student researching “recent events” would have done much the same as she.

On the other hand she now knew that people were looking for them. At least, they were looking for the Kildar. And she knew that they had a true Kildar, warrior born, if it wasn’t evident already. And that if anyone could bring him back, it would be the blonde lieutenant, a girl that would be considered moderately pretty among the Keldara even if she was a “ten” for most cultures.

But how, exactly…