Chapter 40 – Vael

  The pit siren blared, and power flooded into Cole. The artificial Lewis Field seeped into his body, partially awakening the attunement levels he’d built up in Curahee. Suddenly, the pack that had been weighted down with weapons and ammo to the point of being practically unmovable became light enough for him to swing up onto the cargo rack of the skeletonized L-ATV before clambering on himself. His otherworld assault rifle hung from his sling—a custom forty-round drum loaded, and a six-stack of twenty-rounders across his cummerbund. This time, they each had a dozen more packed magazines in their assault bags, as well. His spear from the wood ogre hung at his hip thanks to the carabiner loop the twins had woven around the base of the haft.

  Cole made room for Nutmeg to jump up beside him, giving the boxer a few scratches under the chin as she licked the palm of his glove and sniffed the cargo. Besson loaded his machine gun and whistled Nutmeg back down beside him. A few feet away, Moriarty’s team was loading up the second vehicle.

  Roxy climbed into the driver’s chair and stowed her shield behind it. She turned on the battery and the electric vehicle buzzed to life. Most otherworlds didn’t have a ready supply of gas or diesel, but most had a source of sunlight, so batteries and solar cells were the way to go. Just one more way this differed from his experience in the Army. But that also meant he’d never have to smell another oil refinery. Or, for that matter, smell the locals fertilizing the vegetable fields from the blackwater tanks.

  Howie tossed his pack aboard and took position on the side of the vehicle, bolt-action grenade launcher at the ready with a bandolier of grenades across his chest like some ’80s action hero made travel-size. His otherworld PDW was across his back. They were a far cry from the raw hopefuls that had been about to jump blind into Curahee. But that overconfidence could be a killer, as well. Cole would have to keep them in check.

  The loudspeaker trilled, and they got the thirty-second warning. A few moments later, the mote started to expand into a swirling disc. Cole finished strapping down the gear and jumped back to the concrete pad.

  As soon as the portal opened, Moriarty signaled his team through. He and four others went, and then it was Cole’s turn. They hit the portal, and after the disorienting transition, stumbled out into scrubby rolling hills and a dark, cloudy sky with a caustic, bitter tinge to the taste of the air. Cole moved away from the portal, fifteen meters separation, and knelt down, scanning the area. The others dropped NODs in place, but when Cole tried to do the same, he found that even the minimal brightness was too much for his eyes. He lifted them back out of the way.

  “Clear right!” called Moriarty on his other side.

  “Clear left!” he called back. He keyed his radio. “Roxy, bring the vics through.”

  A furry form shot past him, charging out into the brush and growing larger as Besson let his ability bolster Nutmeg. The armored dog started to range.

  “Is that a dog or a horse?” muttered one of Moriarty’s teammates. Cole chuckled at that. But he signaled to Besson to push out. “Hundred meters. Howie, you take the other side.”

  “Sure,” said Howie, starting to push through the brush. Behind them, the two light vehicles emerged from the portal, pulling up in the space they’d cleared. Additional personnel followed—non-attuned specialists and security personnel who accompanied most expeditions. They would hold the portal site until the teams returned. The portal itself shrank to a flickering mote, one that would still allow the transmission of radio comms—for a short distance, at least—without putting out enough energy for ephemeral-classed locals to detect it from any appreciable distance. Apparently, Lewis Fields were hell on radio signals. All they’d have were their squad comms on the short range, and one extra multiband radio with a whip antenna to try and keep comms with Moriarty’s team as long as possible.

  Cole pushed through the waist-high grass, eyes peeled. Even this far from the front, the land bore scars and discolored patches. Mountains to the west blocked traversal by land, and the rocky scrubland of the foothills seemed to have given them a wide berth from the locals. It was clear where most of the fighting was happening, because north of them was a pillar of smoke that towered high into the sky and mixed with the thick cloud layer. Whatever rain came out of those clouds was probably about as safe to drink as raw sewage. With his enhanced Acuity, he could just make out the low whumps of distant explosions coming from that direction.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Alright friends, looks like we’re clear. Mount up and lets put miles on these vehicles,” called Moriarty.

  Cole swung back around and headed for the L-ATV, climbing up into the second seat with Roxy while Howie and Besson took the back.

  “Nutmeg?” asked Roxy.

  “She’ll keep pace,” he said.

  The other vehicle pulled out. Roxy swung the L-ATV in behind them. The only noise was the electric whine of the four discrete wheel motors and the grinding of gravel beneath the tires. Cole took the time to double-check the charts. To the east would be farmland, and further on a city—but both were blocked by a forest that extended at least a hundred kilometers. A substantial part of it had been cleared, either for construction or war effort.

  Bumping along off-road wasn’t exactly speedy. It took them almost three hours to crest the last set of hills before the terrain dropped into forest too thick to continue mounted. Cole unpacked the camo netting to stash the vehicles, leaving a multi-day IR strobe atop each one so they could be easily found under night vision. They made his eye itch in such a way that he wondered if his acuity might soon let him start seeing into the near infrared spectrum without NODs.

  Moriarty approached him as he finished with the camo netting. The man had an otherworld self-loading rifle, as well as a small PDW on a side-sling.

  “Here’s where we part ways,” he said. “We’re headed northeast. I’ve got a contact we bribed, and if our intel is still good, we should be ambushing Leon’s guards the night after tomorrow, twenty miles from the front. Keep heading north and you should find the watchtower sometime tomorrow. How’s your land nav?”

  “Solid,” said Cole. “I was scout platoon.”

  “Good. It’s easy to get lost here if you can’t read contours. Be careful. These woods are crawling with Vaelian patrols and foragers, plus there are scattered villages and dangerous monsters. You’re not here to grind levels, so avoid going loud if you can help it. Most things here you should be able to manage with spears and swords. Your counterpart’s name is Deathbringer Guall—that’s like a captain. Say his name within a mile of the tower and he’ll hear it. Otherwise, you might get a hand-cannon to the chest if you try to approach.”

  “Alright,” said Cole. “Deathbringer Guall. We’ll find him. And we’ll make some noise at the appropriate time.”

  One of the other members of Moriarty’s team, Alexa, came jogging up. She had a small four-legged drone that puffed out steam as it kept pace—like a robotic Nutmeg, only this one had two rifles attached to it. Cole hadn’t seen it on the other side, so this must have been some sort of class ability.

  “Hey, have you seen the new girl?” she asked.

  “I thought she was with you,” said Moriarty.

  “I saw her get off the buggy when we stopped,” his other teammate said.

  “Fuck!” said Moriarty. He looked around. “Does anyone have eyes on Nona Keeton?”

  A chorus of blank stares greeted him. He looked at Cole.

  Cole shrugged. “She’s slippery. None of us even saw her on Curahee, but she had eyes on us.”

  The team lead growled. “This is not what I need right now, Cole,” he said, as though it was Cole’s fault. But if he thought he could control Nona, then Cole would have let her join his own team.

  “Did you ask Bricker about her?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. “Just a bunch of special circumstance bullshit, and to trust she could handle herself.” Moriarty sighed. “Fuck. Alright, you say it’s her MO, then it’s her MO. We won’t waste time searching. But this is the last op she ever runs with me. Let’s go. It’s at least a day’s ruck to the watchtower for you, and longer for us. Let’s hope she can keep up. Good luck, Airborne.”

  He put out his hand. Cole took it. “Good luck, Moriarty.”

  The other team lead circled his hand in the air, and the rest of his group fell in. “Let’s go. We’re burning darkness. We don’t want to be moving during the day.”

  “What about creepy blonde girl?” asked one of them.

  “Don’t ask,” he growled.

  Cole checked his compass and led the rest of his team at a catty-corner angle. Besson and Nutmeg ranged out ahead of them, covering their advance. Admittedly, a four-plus-dog team was smaller than he’d have liked. His fire team had been three men and himself, while his squad had been eight men plus his squad leader. Having only four felt like he was missing half the team. But the bigger the group, the more LF threats tended to home in. It was something he’d have to take into account on future worlds, as well.

  After an hour of silent (except for Howie and Roxy’s bushcraft) stalking, Besson’s voice whispered into his radio.

  “Patrol up ahead, two-hundred meters.”