*
The back of the airplane opened, and Wit was the first one out. It was night, but even in the darkness, Wit could see curvature of Earth below him in all directions. They were only at 32,000 feet, but it felt as if they were in space, rocketing down to solid ground.
To the southwest Wit could see the lights of Bhuntar and the trail of village lights that extended northeast up the Kullu Valley along the Beas River. To the east were the lights of Manikaran, the small holy town where Hindus believed Manu re-created life after the great flood. The PC compound was between the two, sitting on the north side of the Parvati River.
Wit positioned his body into a steep dive, and the speedometer on his HUD ticked up to 210 miles per hour. The HUD also showed air temperature, heart rate, adrenaline levels, and the position of his eight recruits, all matching his speed behind him. They had agreed to land on the roof of Ketkar's building--they could take out the twenty roof guards easily from the air. The challenge would be to do so without alerting everyone else.
The Spaniard, a computer expert named Lobo, came up beside Wit, getting into position. The plan was to override the Indian's network so that downed Para Commandos appeared healthy and unhurt to everyone else. The MOPs wouldn't be in range of the network until about five thousand feet, however, so Lobo would have only a few seconds to get into their network and do his business before Wit and the others started picking off guards on the roof.
"You ready, Lobo?" Wit asked, as they dropped through some cloud cover.
"My eyes are sore, sir. I've been blinking like a madman. But I'm ready." As soon as everyone had agreed to Lobo's idea back on the plane, Lobo had stepped aside and began blinking out a program with his HUD. "I also whipped up a little feedback for the PCs' radios to mask any noise from our descent."
"Well done."
Wit's HUD beeped, signaling it was time to slow down. He switched position, lying flat and building up wind resistance. Lobo shot ahead. The compound was coming up fast. Spotlights swept the area outside the fence. Wit could see vehicles now and the guard towers. The valley was steep and narrow, and the hillsides were thick with evergreens. The Parvati River was a thin line of white running southwest. They were miles from any village. The HUD beeped again, and Wit extended his breaker wings; the swaths of fabric in his suit slowed his descent even more.
Lobo's chute opened far below him.
Wit descended another three seconds before opening his chute and getting his weapon into position. Now he was beside Lobo and three other chutes. They would be the first wave. The next five would land immediately thereafter. Wit's HUD zoomed in on the roof, and the heat signature of twenty men appeared. Wit's computer selected them all, identifying them as TAFTs, or targets for termination. Wit blinked at the five men he intended to take, selecting them, and watched on his HUD as his teammates selected the others.
"Now, Lobo," said Wit.
Lobo's response was almost immediate. "Clear. Go."
The silencer on Wit's weapon muffled the fire, and his five targets on the roof all took a spider round, their suits going stiff and turning red. Wit touched down and released his chute. No one was firing at him. The other roof sentries were down. He grabbed his chute and stuffed it under one of the red PCs. He could hear the man's muffled complaints behind his visor, and Wit put a finger to his own visor over his lips, telling the man to stay quiet.
The other five MOPs landed on the roof and began tucking their chutes away. Lobo was kneeling beside one of the downed PCs with a wire connected to the man's helmet. It was only a matter of time before the men on the ground and those in the towers did a check-in with the men on the roof. If the PCs found the roof silent, they'd know the roof was compromised. Lobo was downloading all of the chatter the sentry had heard and given that night. Voice manipulation software would do the rest.
"Status, Lobo?" Wit asked.
Lobo's lips moved inside his helmet, and then after a brief delay, Wit heard Lobo's words in his own helmet. Only, it wasn't Lobo's voice. It was deeper, with an Indian accent, no doubt identical to that of the downed PC. "All set, Captain. If they call up for a status, I'll tell them all is hunky dory on the roof."
"Let's move," said Wit, leading the others through the roof entrance. They went down a stairwell, across a short corridor, and onto the third floor, taking down four more sentries along the way. These they dispatched with spider pads, small magnetic discs that were the dampening-suit equivalent to a fatal knife wound. Slap a pad on a suit, and the person goes red. Much quieter than gunfire.
A sandbag barricade with four sentries blocked the entrance to Ketkar's office. The New Zealander, an SAS officer whom Wit had nicknamed Pinetop, took the gear and weapon off the downed sentry at Wit's feet and began walking down the center of the corridor toward the barricade. The lights were off, and only Pinetop's silhouette was visible in the darkness. The sentries mistook him for someone else until he was right on top of them. Four shots later, the hall was clear.
Major Khudabadi Ketkar was sitting behind his desk in a dampening suit with a smile on his face when Wit entered. He stood and extended a hand. "Captain O'Toole. I suppose I should not be surprised to see you. Welcome. And I see you brought seven of your finest men."
"All of my men are my finest, sir. It's a pleasure to see you again. Mrs. Ketkar is well, I hope."
"She is nagging me like a frightened hen, but my ears have grown accustomed. She wants to know when you're coming to dinner again. She calls you 'the handsome American.' I pretend not to be jealous." He looked past Wit, saw the four downed sentries at the barricade, and smiled again. "Those are four of my senior officers. I don't think they'll like you very much after tonight, Captain."
"Few people do, sir. Occupational hazard."
Ketkar smiled. "I hope they put up a good fight at least before you shamed them in front of their commanding officer."
"Yes, sir. They are fine soldiers. It was difficult to overrun their position."
"Funny," said Ketkar, smiling. "I didn't hear so much as a scuffle." He picked up the neatly folded flag on his desk and handed it to Wit. "You must tell me how it was done, though," he said.
"HALO jump, sir."
Ketkar frowned. "Attacking from the air? That's breaking the rules, isn't it?"
"I was not aware that our game had any rules, sir."
Ketkar laughed. "No, I suppose it doesn't. It's a bitter irony, though. The PCs are paratroopers. You would think we would look to the sky." He sighed. "Well, you are to be commended for coming this far, Captain. But surely you must realize that escape is impossible. My men have these facilities surrounded. They will never let you out of here."
"With all due respect, sir, I think they will. They'll open the front gate for us."
Ketkar looked amused. "And why would they do that?"
"Because you will ask them to, sir."
"Forgive me, Captain, but our friendship only goes so far. I will do nothing of the sort."
"No, sir. I will do it for you. We have enough samples of your voice now." Wit clicked over to the private frequency. "You ready, Lobo?"
"You're good to go, sir," said Lobo.
Wit began speaking, but it was Ketkar's voice that came out of the speaker on Ketkar's desk. He was broadcasting to every PC. "Gentlemen, this is Major Ketkar. I have just received a personal call from Captain Wit O'Toole of MOPs congratulating us on our victory. Many of you know, but some of you may not be aware, that I sent a small strike force ahead of our main force and asked them to observe strict radio silence. While our main force engaged the MOPs at their camp, creating a distraction, our strike unit has sneaked through and taken the flag from Captain O'Toole without suffering a single casualty. They are now approaching the base. I will meet them outside the gate, along with my senior officers, to give them a hero's welcome. Once they're inside, I expect you to do the same. Our friends in MOPs fought valiantly, but we have shown these cocky bastards who the real soldiers are."
Ther
e was a cry of approval and applause from outside.
Major Ketkar was no longer smiling. "Well, that was unexpected."
"Forgive me, sir," said Wit. "I hope this doesn't damage our future dinner plans." He politely slapped a spider pad dead center on Ketkar's chest.
*
Lobo had two cars waiting down in the building's garage. Wit and the other MOPs climbed inside. All of them were now wearing the red berets of the Indian Para Commandos. At a distance, in the dark, they might pass for senior officers, but if anyone got a close look, the ruse would be up.
"Make a show if it," said Wit. "Lots of celebratory honking."
Three of them carried small Indian flags on sticks that they had taken from Ketkar's desk. They cracked the windows and stuck the flags outside, waving them ceremoniously. Lobo pulled out of the garage, and Bogdanovich, at the wheel of the second car, followed. As soon as both cars were away from the building, Lobo started blaring the car horn in short beeps. The PCs, who were still a distance away, cheered and raised their weapons over their heads.
"They're opening the gate," said Wit. "Don't gun it, Lobo. Keep a normal speed. You're driving a major."
"Yes, sir."
Soldiers were leaving the safety of the barricade and running toward the cars, cheering and celebrating. Wit settled back in his chair, keeping his face in the shadows. The soldiers were still thirty yards away, but they would be on the cars in seconds. The gate was just ahead. "Normal speed," repeated Wit. "Nice and easy." The sentries at the gatehouse stepped outside and snapped to attention as the large gate doors slid open. Wit's car began pulling through the gate, passing the sentries, just as the cheering soldiers behind them reached the second car and began slapping the trunk in celebration. One of the sentries at attention lowered his gaze to Wit's car and smiled. The smile vanished an instant later. Then the man started yelling and reaching for his weapon, and all went to hell.
"Gun it, Lobo," said Wit.
Lobo floored it. Behind them Bogdanovich did the same. The celebration became a furious mad scramble. Men tried climbing on to the second car, reaching for the door handle. Spider rounds pinged off the glass. Bogdanovich swerved and floored it. Men tumbled off the car.
"Roadblock," said Lobo.
There were two vehicles parked in the road ahead with a half-dozen PCs already leveling their weapons.
Chi-won was sitting in the backseat beside Wit. "Chi-won," said Wit.
"Happy to, sir."
There was no explanation needed. Wit lowered his window just as Chi-won did. Their weapons were out the window an instant later, firing. PC suits flashed red and stiffened.
Lobo gunned it. "I'm going through."
"Don't run over anyone," said Wit.
Lobo struck the first vehicle at just the right angle to push it enough to the side to get the car through. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Tires spun. Lobo put his foot to the floor, the vehicle rocked to the side, and then they were free, racing away. The second car was right behind them. The shots from their rear were less frequent now, but Wit knew they weren't in the clear yet. Far from it. The cars would be overtaken soon. They still had two hundred men between them and the MOPs camp.
They drove for another hundred yards around two winding curves and stopped. All nine of them were out of the car immediately.
Two MOPs soldiers emerged from the woods. Deen, the Brit, and Averbach, the Israeli.
"Evening, Captain," said Deen. "We thought you might not be coming." He looked at the new recruits. "These the new greenies? Pleased to meet, boys. Name's Deen. Whose crazy idea was this? I love it."
"Introductions later," said Wit. "You're about to have some angry PCs on your tail. Every vehicle on their base will be on top of you in about ten seconds."
Deen shrugged nonchalantly then got behind the wheel of the first car. Averbach jumped into the second.
"Where I am taking this, Captain?" asked Deen.
"All over creation," said Wit. "Have a field day. Just keep them occupied."
Deen brushed some glass shards off the front seat. "I see that we're not concerning ourselves with the paint job."
"Try not to total it," said Wit.
Deen gunned the engine and put a hand to his ear, smiling. "What's that, Captain? I didn't catch that last part." He laughed and peeled away, with Averbach right behind him.
Wit gave them a mile at the most. Then the PCs would be all over them. He'd never do such a thing in a real operation, sacrificing two men like this, but Deen and Averbach said they didn't mind. They'd take a spider round to the chest if it meant they got to trash a few vehicles in the process.
Wit was running down the slope through the forest with the new recruits. They tossed aside their red berets and replaced them with their helmets. Wit's HUD flickered to life, barraging him with intel: temperature, distance to the river, projected water depth based on the amount of snow and rainfall in the area that winter. Branches lashed at his suit and helmet. The flag was in his back pouch. They were through the trees. The footbridge over the river was old and dilapidated. Much of the railing had fallen away long ago. The river was twenty feet below. Wit never slowed down. His HUD told him the water was likely deeper to the right. Wit leaped from the bridge. He flew through the air, hit water, and went under. The buoyancy of his dampening suit lifted him to the surface, and the current swept him downstream. His HUD gave him the water temperature and tracked the location of his men. All eight were in the water with him, moving quickly, bobbing along. The current was relatively calm in spots but it raged in others. Twice they saw large groups of PCs heading up the road adjacent to the river, back toward the base, hoping perhaps to stop whomever had the flag. No one looked toward the river. Or if they did, they didn't see anything in the dark.
The last mile was uneventful. The river calmed, and Wit moved to the opposite shore. The suits were heavy and waterlogged, but they made good time on foot, reaching camp ten minutes later. Wit was not surprised to see all of the remaining MOPs and about sixty PCs gathered around a bonfire in their undergarments. A tall pile of discarded dampening suits stood off to the side. Most of the suits were stiff and red, but a good number of them were still operable. The PCs and MOPs were mingling and laughing and drinking and playing cards. Four of them were singing a ribald drinking song, much to the delight of those around them. No one noticed Wit and the new recruits, who watched from behind one of the tents.
Wit's instructions to the MOPs at camp had been clear. Don't let the PCs get the flag, but don't them let feel like failures either. Show humility. These men are allies not enemies.
Five men were sitting on crates and cargo boxes nearby playing a hand of ganjifa. Calinga, the Filipino MOP, laid down a hand of the circular cards and celebrated. Those playing with him moaned. Calinga's wrist strap flashed green, and he excused himself. He came to Wit, smiling and keeping his voice down. "Evening, Captain. Things turned out well for you, I assume. These the newbies? Welcome to MOPs, gentlemen."
The eight recruits nodded a greeting.
"How'd we do?" asked Wit.
Calinga shrugged. "After we'd shot them all, we told them it seemed silly for anyone to lie stiff as a board in the grass until it was over. So we stripped our suits first, so they wouldn't think we were mocking them, and then we broke out the ration coolers with the vitamin drinks. I think the PCs were hoping for booze, but they seemed grateful enough."
"Did we lose any men?"
"Toward the end of the last assault I shot Toejack and Kimble when no one was looking. It seemed like we should have at least a few wounded. If we were all still standing in the end, it would have felt like gloating."
"Well done," said Wit. He stepped out of his dampening suit and shot it with his weapon. The suit stiffened and turned red. "Drop your suits and shoot them," he told the others.
The new recruits obeyed immediately.
"Now we put them on the pile with the others," said Wit. "Be exhausted. Don't act, just let your ex
haustion be seen."
Wit led the others to the pile. He had a stitch in his side, but instead of suppressing the pain like he normally would, he let it aggravate him and winced at the discomfort of it. He tossed his suit onto the pile. The soldiers around the bonfire saw him, and everyone quieted. The new recruits dropped their suits onto the pile. They looked wet and tired and beaten, when a moment ago they hadn't even seemed winded.
Wit spoke loudly. "Those of you in my unit know that I do not like to fail."
The camp was silent.
"I had assumed that we could easily win this exercise, but tonight I've learned that you PCs are tougher men than I anticipated. All of us took a beating. If we work this hard over the next few weeks, we'll learn from each other and become better soldiers and men because of it."
Headlights cut through the darkness, and a small convoy of vehicles pulled in. Wit fell silent, watching the cars approach. Major Ketkar stepped down from one of the vehicles, now wearing his fatigues and looking none too pleased.
"Attention!" Wit yelled.
Everyone at the campfire snapped to attention, including Wit, who saluted the major, even though technically it wasn't necessary.
Major Ketkar mostly hid his surprise. He looked at the men and the coolers and the sausages and the pile of dampening suits, taking it all in. Then he spoke loudly for everyone to hear. "Captain Wit O'Toole has assured me that the next seven weeks of training will be the most grueling, most painful, and most challenging of your lives. After tonight's exercise I believe him. In the morning, I intend to forget that I saw a hundred men in their underwear, standing around a fire like a pack of cavemen." He paused here and looked pointedly at a few of his own men. "But since this is your last night before our hellish training begins, I will turn a blind eye." He smiled now. "You will forgive me if I keep my uniform on."
The men laughed.
"As you were," said Ketkar.
They went back to their drinks and mingling.
Ketkar turned to Wit. "You owe me two new cars, Captain."
"You'll be reimbursed, sir. Forgive me if we took the game too far."
"And damage to one of my trucks, which proved to be a lousy roadblock."