Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

“Among the many functions you will have as Shadow Coven, first and foremost is to not embarrass me. You have all Manifested in prohibited schools, or in Richards’s case, perfected a practice that has been outlawed under an amendment to the Geneva Convention. By all rights, you should be rotting in jail or strapped to a lethal injection table, and, with a little work, you might still get there. However, for the time being, the president of the United States himself is giving you a free pass so long as you put your skills to work in the service of this country. What I expect from each and every one of you is to earn that amnesty, and to make certain that your customers do not regret their decision to take a chance on you. I can assure you that I will take any failure to meet that standard as a personal affront and deal with you accordingly.

“First off, we are arranging the Coven so that each of you performs roles in proportion to your Manifested ability. These are as follows.” He turned to write on the board.

“Downer, you will provide force protection, under the call sign ‘Prometheus.’ Truelove, you will provide combat overmatch capabilities, under the call sign ‘Rictus.’ Richards, you will provide reserve capability as required, under the call sign ‘Whisper.’ Britton, you will provide logistical support under the call sign ‘Keystone.’ These capabilities do not absolve you of your duties as agents of the United States Army. The primary mission of this organization is to kill people and destroy property. You will ensure that, whatever the designation I have just given you, you are properly trained to put warheads on foreheads when called to do so. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the Coven said in unison.

“The great thing about Probe schools is that they’re all pretty much force multipliers,” Fitzy went on. “The constitution of this particular Coven, now with instantaneous transport”—he gestured to Britton—“enables you to deliver a hammerblow whenever and wherever the SOC needs it. In short, the four of you can show up in an enemy’s backyard and have an army there inside of a minute. We are going to train to do just that.

“First things first; some ground rules. You will not use your magical abilities except in the line of duty when specifically authorized. You will not speak to or associate with the indig unless specifically authorized. You will obey all my orders as if they were the word of the Almighty Himself. Also clear?”

“Sir.”

“Outstanding,” Fitzy said. “This is trailer B-6. We will meet here every afternoon, after you complete your SASS morning indoc and basic control training. By then I expect you to have completed your time sheet and eaten a proper breakfast. Big-boy rules, people. Nobody will wake you up and ensure you get anywhere on time, but I will personally kick your ass if you are even slightly tardy. Instructions will be written on this whiteboard or delivered in person. Because your abilities are unique, much of your training and some of your assignments will be performed independently. As unit cohesion is a goal, I will try to keep you together as much as humanly possible, but it won’t always be. For now, you will follow me to the adjacent trailer.”

The adjacent trailer was empty and covered with soft matting. A short-haired, kind-voiced older woman dressed in a white jumpsuit greeted them and bade them sit Indian style on the mats. The next two hours were spent in meditation exercises. The woman led them first through stretches, then chants, and finally silence, attempting to rid their minds of conscious thought. Britton heard Truelove begin snoring faintly during the last of the exercises, but the Necromancer was brought around by Fitzy’s boot in his ribs. Richards smirked but choked back his laughter before Fitzy could provide similar disci-pline.

“Try to take this seriously,” the instructor admonished. “Dis-ciplining your emotions is the key to magical control. Even the Dampener isn’t as effective as a person who has attained true self-mastery. Meditation is an important part of that.”

The other soldiers in the evening chow hall avoided them, stepping out of line as the Coven approached. The few humans working the food lines slopped the food onto their trays in a hurry, thrusting them at the Coven as if trying to ward them off. The Goblins murmured among themselves in their own language. A few bowed to Britton as he passed, tapping their closed eyelids as Marty had done.

Marty appeared among a cluster of humans and Goblins from the cash, all in blue medical scrubs. He waved to the Coven, and Truelove waved back. “How’s it going?”

“You just secure that crap, Rictus,” Fitzy snarled. “You want to buttfuck your fairy-tale boyfriend in the privacy of your own hooch, then I guess everyone is entitled to blow off a little steam, no matter how nasty that particular mental image may be. But God as my witness, you will not fraternize on my watch!”

Marty looked at his feet and moved on.

They ate without speaking. Fitzy munched away beside them, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Back at the trailer, they were split up.

Britton followed Fitzy down another track to a huge canvas tent that enclosed a bare patch of ground some hundred feet square. Foam mats lay scattered about. Ropes hung from metal brackets attached to the tent’s canopy. Their breath steamed in the cold air. Fitzy strolled to the center of the tent and faced Britton.

“You get the pleasure of spending more time with me than any of the other Novices in the Coven, Keystone. This is because while all of Coven Four must develop hand-to-hand combat skills, your training plan calls for particular expertise in the Modern Army Combative system, which we will now refer to as MAC. It just so happens that before I Manifested, I had the pleasure of serving as a MAC instructor in the Eleventh Infantry. Before being assigned to lead Shadow Coven, I taught MAC to the SOC. I don’t think I’ve ever taught fewer than ten men in a class. But you get one-on-one training, which perhaps makes you the luckiest man on this whole damned FOB.

“The end goal will be to develop a concept coined by my predecessor, with the only other Portamancer we had the pleasure to work with — Gate-Integrated MAC or GIMAC. I affectionately term this as ‘gate-fu.’ But if I ever hear you call it by that name, I will hand you your ass more than I am about to. GIMAC integrates all the MAC moves with conjured gates, used as a cutting weapon. You will also use your magic to position yourself more advantageously against your opponent.”

“You’re going to teach me hand-to-hand combat?” Britton asked.

“For the nonce,” Fitzy replied, “I will forgive you for asking a question out of turn. I will even tell you that, once you have learned how to integrate your Gate Sorcery with MAC, you will be deadlier than an entire rifle company. You’ll use your gates like an extra fist. No, like a cleaver, only one that can cut through absolutely anything. You’ll be able to appear in the enemy’s backfield and take out fifty of him before he knows you showed up. But there’s a long, long way to go before you can do that, and we have to crawl before we can walk. So, MAC first, GIMAC when you’re ready. Now, let’s begin.”

Fitzy advanced. Britton retreated, hands extended. “Sir, I’ve done some MAC before, but I’m not ready to…”

Fitzy snapped a kick at Britton’s knee. Britton jerked his leg back, slapping the boot down, but Fitzy landed on it and brought the other foot up, crashing into Britton’s head and sending him sprawling. Even under the influence of the Dampener, the magic threatened to surface, and Britton concentrated on shunting it back.

“Get up,” Fitzy said.