Insidious valour, p.10
Insidious Valour, page 10
Leaders of the respective units were heard scribbling on their notepads. Woodburn continued, listing the leaving dates and points of interest. He reminded everyone not to even try to speculate on Admiral’s reason for heading to Liberia in the first place and that Chinese whispers would do more harm than good.
Harper knew some of the absurd conspiracies regarding Admiral’s pilgrimage to Africa, ranging from identity-altering plastic surgery to raising an army from within the Liberian jungle. Admiral wouldn’t stay at the equator forever, and his detest for third-world countries had been highlighted many times.
“I’m now going to pass over to newly promoted Major Forssel,” Woodburn announced, nodding for Alexi to join him. “He’ll be leading the second offensive in the Hebrides.”
Alexi stood, stepping slowly up to the podium. “Thank you, General.” He appeared whiter than normal. Harper thought it could’ve been the lighting, but underneath Alexi’s cool veneer, he seemed nervous for his first led mission. “I’ll be leading the second operation, codenamed ‘Wolf Pack’. Our target area is an island in the Outer Hebrides, West Scotland. This is the holding site for Admiral’s followers and their captives… ready for slaughter.” He looked across the room. “Our teams and units consist of all remaining Scandinavian and Baltic infantry. We travel by air, refuelling in our stronghold in Sheffield, North England. Once we land at the Isle of Skye, we travel by boat, docking on the shores of North Uist.”
More pencils scribbling on paper.
“We leave two days after Operation Catfish, only embarking on North Uist once we have confirmation from Woodburn that stage one of Catfish has been successful.” Alexi nodded to Woodburn. “Wolfpack’s invasion comes as a surprise, and we know the hills that Admiral’s followers have themselves hidden under.”
The slideshow changed, showing a cluster of excavators and diggers on a coastline. “This collection of heavy-duty construction equipment was found off the western coast of Southern Uist. The Outer Hebrides’ most southern island. It seems that when they abandoned their first subbase in Milton Keynes, they took their equipment to dig themselves a new home. This is how they avoided our thermal drone scans for the past year,” Alexi announced while his eyes darkened. “As you all have heard, they have an army of sub-servants. These ‘Termites’ have no regard for their own safety. They don’t need guns—they will take you down in other ways without thinking of their own lives. We are outnumbered but not outgunned. When it comes to the Termites, our orders are shoot to kill. We don’t know how many captives or hostages we’re going to have to extract, so this is both an eliminate and rescue mission.”
“Timing is key on this, folks,” Woodburn said, approaching the front. “None of this goes ahead until Catfish has landed on the Liberian beach. The callsign will be Omaha. You all have your files. I suggest you study them with what time we have left. Catfish leaves in two days. Happy hunting.”
15
Rook snuck back through the fire exit and into the apartment block, hastily making his way upstairs and unlocking the door to his apartment. His brief questioning of Mrs Gregorzk had revealed something of relevance to the situation but also a glimmer into just how far Admiral’s claws went into the European Alliance.
He left the door open as he ruffled through the drawer by his desk, looking for the list of perpetrators of the hospital attack—another valuable piece of intel Eliza had acquired for him. He scanned the names of all who had been either killed or detained at the end of it all.
“Steaming Jesus,” he whispered, folding the paper and placing it inside his jacket pocket. Mrs Gregorzk hadn’t been lying, and every name on the list had come out of her mouth. They all had one thing in common—they all worked at the docks, where shipments were sent or received from the other ports along the coasts of northern and western Europe. With Monreal’s untraceable tech, they could move anything within the European Alliance without detection. There could be more uncounted or phantom weapons moving between ports at this very second, ready to supply the next attack.
This information had to be kept under the radar, but there were two people who had to be aware of this. Rook drank what was left of his now cold coffee and left his apartment, knocking on Mikey and Jen’s door. The door creaked as Jen peeked through the opening, then she removed the chain and let him in. Mikey pulled himself up from his sleeping position and carefully rested his injured foot on the coffee table.
“So,” Rook started, sliding the piece of paper over to the couple, “Mrs Gregorzk doesn’t exactly talk the best English. She did confirm that her husband and his friends were approached during their shifts on the docks. The names she gave match the ones on this list.”
Mikey gave the list a puzzling glance. “What’s this list?”
“That’s the list of men who pulled off the hospital shooting,” Rook confirmed. “All ten of them are dock workers and her husband’s friends.”
“So, you think they were recruited down at the docks?” Jen added.
“Unfortunately, it makes too much sense… and that’s not even the worst of it.” Rook paused, knowing what he would say might send Mikey off the rails. “Besides the fact they could be transporting undocumented weapons in or out, the docking station they work at is where the medical or chemical supplies come in from Brugge… which also happens to be where the serum for Kurustovia is being produced. They’ve had undocumented access to the shit.”
“How would Monreal convince these guys to steal it?”
“The same way he convinced them to shoot up a hospital and come after you. He’s either got something they want or has promised them something.” Rook sat forward and said, “Also worth mentioning, when I showed Mrs Gregorzk the photo and called him Monreal, she referred to him as officer man.”
“Officer? I thought Monreal was a tech supervisor?”
“He is.”
“So he’s pretending to be someone higher up?” Jen asked. “Gives them a sense of security that someone with authority will help them.”
“Could be the case.” Rook stroked his chin, then rubbed his eyes.
“What’s the next step?”
“Other than Lukas in the cell, the only other leads we have to any of Monreal’s movements is maybe the body we found last week. It’s a long shot, but if we can identify who it is, something might come up that gets us closer to bringing the fucker in.”
“What are you going to do if you do find him?” Mikey asked, handing over the pistol.
“Well, I’d love to turn his face into waffles,” Rook said, taking the weapon, “but we don’t know if he’s the only person Admiral has got to. If he does have more on the inside, I can’t risk them getting spooked and going into hiding. As for Monreal, I’ll bleed every bit of information from him until there’s nothing left.”
A thundering vibration woke Rook in an instant, and he shot up from the bed and snatched the smart radio as it hummed against the empty mug on his bedside table, answering the call.
“You know my sleeping hours are three till seven,” he huffed, pulling his socks on.
“Good evening to you, too,” the female voice replied in a strong Bavarian accent. Eliza knew all too well when his daily personal time was, but her tone was clear that this was a professional call. “I was just calling to let you know that Monreal’s workstation, including his terminal, was searched again.”
“Any sign of the software he was using?”
“No. Everything was clean.”
“Dammit.” Rook sighed and asked, “Anything else?”
“Your friends Woodburn and Harper were here to oversee it,” Eliza reported and hesitated before adding more. “They just had the briefing for the upcoming operations. Harper looked shaken up. He’s coming to see you on his way back. He said he’d be an hour.”
“I’ll get the coffee on then. Thank you for the heads up. See you tomorrow?”
“Only if you’ve tidied the place.” She hung up.
Rook switched the lamp on and looked around his bedroom. Clothes sprawled everywhere, and unwashed bowls of wheat flakes and banana skins cluttered his chest of drawers. “Even at the world’s end, women can still moan,” he joked to himself, pulling on his boxer shorts.
He had fifteen minutes before his alarm would’ve gone off, so he used the extra time to tidy and hoover, though leaving the crockery in the sink until he had a few spare minutes the next morning. Once he was happy with the minor tidying, he finished getting dressed and armed himself, locking his apartment door as he left.
His early evening ritual consisted of checking in with the guards at the front desk and then inspecting every door, window, exit, and entrance. Once he’d gone through his checklist, his next duty was to make sure the three apartments he was responsible for were okay. Harper’s family and Mikey and Jen were fine for supplies, making Rook’s life easier with not having to place an order with the asshole that was once his designated handler. The same guy who delayed the response time during the hospital attack.
Rook spent more time than usual in Steph’s room. She was unrecognisable from how he first met her. The weight she’d lost from being bedbound was scary, even to someone like him, who’d found captives throughout the war and had no other alternative than to eat the dead. Her hair was as pale as her skin, and even the green glint in her eyes had somewhat faded.
This condition would remain permanent unless she began to eat properly or find a reason to live again. Her stare was void of any such drive, as if she was begging the ceiling to fall on her at that very instant. She wanted death.
Rook checked her room before leaving, making sure her restraints were tight—a job he hated more than he could’ve ever thought. Steph was, as described by Ryan, someone who had taught him the ways to keep pushing forward no matter what life threw at you, now spending every waking minute wishing it would end.
There were very few things that managed to get under his skin, but every time Rook had to close and lock the door on Steph, there was a gnawing feeling that he was helping pound her into her own hell every time. He shut his eyes as the lock clicked, only imagining how Ryan would react when he was finally told about everything that had happened. The main man at Penbrook Vineyard wasn’t the most physically imposing. Even Rook knew he could take him down if an altercation happened between the pair, but Ryan had that one thing about him that bought unpredictability and wrath. A one-on-one fight with Ryan, fine. Hurting those close to him? You better hide in the darkest corner of the planet.
Harper’s voice echoed from the reception as he greeted the guards, followed by his boots treading up the stairs. The lieutenant rounded the corner to the hallway, eyes tired but narrow. “How is everyone?” he asked, brushing the snow off his coat.
“Your son burns through energy at a rate that would’ve made the Chinese blush,” Rook replied honestly. “Think your wife is considering getting him a cage for the daytime.”
Harper smirked, knowing what a terror Troy could be. “His sister used to be the same. I never had to do morning workouts with her running around the place.” He unzipped his coat and folded it in his arms. “Have you got a few minutes later? We’ve been given the brief.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Rook offered Harper a chair in his living room and poured them both a coffee, sitting on the armchair opposite the coffee table. “When do you ship out?” he asked.
“Morning after tomorrow,” Harper answered, pulling the cup to his mouth. “We’re taking a chopper to the last of our aircraft carriers.”
“The U.S.S Gavato?”
“She’s currently anchored in the Bay of Biscay. It’ll be two days until we reach Liberian seas, then two days until we launch the operation. Once we’ve landed ashore, the operation in Scotland will be initiated, which is being led by Alexi.”
“The Finnish kid?”
“He’s thirty now.”
“And when the war started, he was only twenty-three,” Rook pointed out, visibly confused by the decision to place someone so young in charge.
“Woodburn went through the process thoroughly,” Harper explained. “Alexi has more credentials and awards for bravery than any of the Scandinavian officers. When his seniors were killed in battle, Alexi took charge and guided his men to safety and, in the case of Brugges, victory. Have you seen those men around him when the shit hits the fan? He pretty much turns them into Vikings. Even I witnessed it.”
“And even you know he’s not major material yet? Granted, one day, maybe, but not now.”
“No, he’s not,” Harper admitted, “and Alexi didn’t want that title. It was given to him by those men he saved. When the European Army is finalised after these operations, then he’ll be designated a more suitable title.”
Rook sat back and rubbed his forehead. Though he felt bound to protect these people in the apartment block, this was one operation he really wanted to be part of. “Woodburn signed off on Alexi?” he asked.
“Ever since the French’s fuck up for blaming you with Monreal’s doings, he’s really put his foot down, and shit is actually getting done. You should see the governing board. French, Polish, and Danish ministers are practically bowing to him.”
“The man is efficient,” Rook agreed, though visibly at a disagreement with the idea of putting a thirty-year-old in charge of a wide-scale operation. “Who’s staying behind for this one? We still have refugees and survivors we need to maintain order over.”
“You’ll have Woodburn’s Hungarian sector providing security and order. You know them, they don’t fuck around, especially if Monreal tries to get another attack to kick off again.”
Rook felt a bit more relaxed with that news. The Hungarian armed forces were monsters in the field and took whatever commands they had seriously. They were the only security unit he trusted after seeing them on duty in the reception.
Harper finished his coffee and placed it on the table, eyeing the small satellite-dish-looking piece of equipment on Rook’s window ledge. “What’s that?”
“Something I got from a friend in a secret place.” Rook winked, pulling a laptop from under the stack of magazines and opening it. The screen displayed four separate live feeds, covering the front, rear, rooftop, and fire escape of the apartment block. “They record in forty-eight-hour feeds. Just another layer for security.”
“Did Eliza sneak you that?”
“That obvious?”
“Well, I know it definitely wasn’t the French,” Harper remarked, sitting back in the chair and keeping his eyes on the screen. He rubbed his chin like he was thinking out loud. “Could she get any more of those devices?”
“Possibly.” Rook shrugged, closing the laptop. “What for?”
“Ryan. He’s going to be on edge when all of this is going on. If he can have some security, it might help him keep his shit together.”
“How will you get it to him?”
“I’ve asked Alexi to stop over on his way to Sheffield just to update Ryan. He can make the transfer then.”
Rook felt his heart skip a beat. “What happens when Ryan asks how everything is?”
Harper huffed, rubbing his hands nervously. “For everyone’s sake, I’m going to ask Alexi to lie.”
16
Harper kissed his family goodbye while they slept on the pull-out sofa bed, not wanting to wake them up for a teary farewell before he left. He switched off the DVD player, which had been playing the main menu’s fifteen-second loop for hours.
He’d made the most of his last day with them, refusing to let the usual nerves and anxious chatter get in the way of their family time in front of the fireplace while playing board games. He’d already ventured into the unknown enough times and for longer periods. Granted, this was against soldiers he’d once served with, but with Woodburn at the helm of Operation Catfish, there was only one outcome from all this. This was the end of this war, and no one would get in his way.
Harper left an envelope-enclosed letter on the side table and quietly left the apartment, making it to the car waiting out front for him.
“Mind telling me why you requested my ass pick you up at this God-forsaken hour of the morning when we already have a contingent of drivers on standby?” Alexi asked loudly from the front seat, turning round and showing his near maniacal eyes.
“Morning, Major,” Harper said with a grin. “There was a reason I wanted you.” He pulled out a small case and lifted it into the passenger front seat.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a small surveillance device I want you to drop off to Ryan.”
“Will he know how to use it?”
“Drinker is with him. He knows how to use it.”
“Drinker? Well, fuck me in a vodka bottle. I’m looking forward to seeing that fuckwit.” Alexi started driving to the airport. “How did he handle adapting back to civilian life?”
“Last time I saw him, he’d settled in well with his new community. Though he did say that under the surface, it was like he was still at war. There’s no escaping it.”
“Ain’t that the truth, sir.” Alexi nodded, pulling up to the airport’s front entrance. “Well, this is where we part ways. Try not to get too sunburnt in Africa. I’ll see you on the other side, sir!” Alexi said and saluted.
“Will do, Major.” Harper playfully mocked and saluted back, closing the passenger door.
* * *
During the two-hour wait before take-off, Operation Catfish was organised into its respective squads, with Harper leading Team Alpha. His uniform had his callsign, Alpha One, stitched onto both the left breast pocket and right arm.
