Larry Correia - Warbound

The floor rocked beneath his feet, a reminder that they were actually moving. The Traveler was so smooth that sometimes it was easy to forget they were in the air, and after a time you even began to tune out the unearthly howl of the engines. Heinrich Koenig walked through the wall and appeared next to him. Sullivan was now used to the Fade doing that, so it didn’t startle him nearly as much as it used to. “Heinrich,” Sullivan greeted.

“Everything is ready,” Heinrich said, keeping his voice low.

“Good.” The young German was one of the most paranoid of the Grimnoir, and that was saying something. Heinrich had a Fade’s natural mistrust but his upbringing in the treacherous environment of Dead City had taken it to new heights. Regardless, Sullivan was glad to have Heinrich onboard. “Let me know what you find out.”

“This should prove enlightening.”

“Try not to kill anybody until after we interrogate them.”

Heinrich grinned. “I cannot promise this, my friend.” He clapped Sullivan on the shoulder, and then went to join the other Grimnoir.

Word had spread through the ship that Sullivan was going to brief them on their next move. Since they were still in the US, and the winds were mild, only a handful of the crew weren’t in the galley. Normally they would have eaten in shifts, so the narrow room was far too crowded, almost standing room only. Captain Southunder had the bridge. Sullivan suspected it was because he wanted to see how Sullivan would handle the marauders without Southunder’s calming influence present.

It was expected, but still disappointing, to see that the crew had segregated themselves into a few distinct groups. The biggest crowd was made up of members of the Grimnoir society. Sullivan knew many of them, and had fought alongside several. Lance Talon was the senior member, Heinrich was his second in command, but since this expedition was Sullivan’s idea, they were both deferring to him. The knights as a whole were oath-bound to do their duty. Every single one of them was an Active with fighting experience against the Imperium, the Soviets, or, more recently, his own government’s OCI. Since many members of the Grimnoir society still thought the Enemy was a figment of Sullivan’s imagination, these knights were volunteers. The society as a whole was torn about the Pathfinder mission. They were few in number as it was, and their threats were numerous. To have forty of their best leave on what could be a wild-goose chase inspired by one girl’s crazed ramblings and the word of their greatest foe’s ghost was seen as a fool’s errand by many of the elders.

The next corner of the room was filled with the surviving crew of the F.S. Bulldog Marauder and the soldiers of fortune who had worked with Southunder in the Free Cities. These were more of an unknown quantity, originally united by nothing more than their hatred of the Imperium. They were made up of every race, creed, and color, but then again, the Imperium didn’t discriminate when it came to invading countries and ruining lives. The marauders were dangerous and crafty, and knew how to wring the most out of an airship. Sullivan figured they were mostly in it for the money, a few for the adventure, and the rest because they’d follow Bob Southunder into hell if their captain thought it was a good idea. A handful of them were magical, and only a couple of those were strong enough to qualify as Actives, but every last one of them knew how to fight, and nobody could run an airship like the marauders.

The smallest group was the UBF employees, mostly made up of engineers and technical experts. Francis had picked out his best and brightest, given them the pitch, and then paid them large amounts of money to come along. This was the part of the crew that Sullivan was the least familiar with, but Francis swore up and down that they were all extremely good at their jobs.

The Traveler was outfitted with every high-technology device produced by Cog science short of a peace ray, and that was only because John Browning hadn’t been able to figure out a way to attach one to a ship this size. Cog science could be tricky. Browning was too busy keeping America from falling apart to come on this journey, and for that Sullivan was thankful because he thought John was getting too dang old for this sort of business. The UBF men knew enough to keep their magical alterations working, and one of the Grimnoir was supposed to be a very talented Fixer.

The UBF would keep them in the air, the marauders would get them there in one piece, and the knights would take care of business. Simple.

The fourth and smallest group wasn’t really a group at all, but rather the individuals who had either been forced on him or those he felt he needed who didn’t fit in with anybody else. Wells was the newest addition to that list, and the alienist had picked a spot in back where he could observe unnoticed. Cleaned up and with a fresh set of clothing, Wells looked even more unremarkable. Toru was another one that fit in that category, but their former Iron Guard didn’t eat in the galley with the others. It was probably safer for everyone that way. Sullivan checked his watch. Toru was supposed to attend the briefing, but he hadn’t arrived yet. He probably wouldn’t even show, just to prove some point.

Unofficially, Sullivan had no doubt that the newly reformed OCI had a snitch onboard. With all of the controversy about the Active Registration Act going on, this many powerful Actives doing who knew what with a private warship? Hell, the Traveler’s armament alone was violating several of Roosevelt’s new federal laws, but he’d like to see the Treasury agent dumb enough to try and enforce them. Even though OCI was under new, supposedly noncorrupt management, it would have been surprising if the secret police didn’t have somebody on the inside. You couldn’t put together an expedition of this magnitude without word getting out. However, Sullivan wasn’t currently worried about the OCI sort of spy. Let them report back. Then maybe the fools in Washington would realize what they were really dealing with and pull their heads out of their collective behinds. Luckily the Traveler would be leaving the OCI’s jurisdiction, and frankly, Sullivan was a lot more worried about the Enemy than he was about a bunch of bureaucrats meddling in his affairs. Not that he wouldn’t deal with them when—or if—he got back. After Mason Island, Sullivan was done playing games, but first things first, he had to save magic before the petty bureaucrats could try and control it.

No, the spies he was worried about were the Imperium kind. When this many people knew about the mission, it was inevitable the Imperium would find out, and those bastards would sabotage everything, but Lance and Heinrich had come up with a plan for them.

Chowtime was over. The conversations had died down. All eyes were on him. Sullivan finished his smoke, ground it out in an ashtray, and walked to where a world map had been stuck to the wall. The Grimnoir knights who had been leaning on it quickly got out of his way. They were as curious as everyone else.

It was pointless to ask for everyone’s attention. They were eager to begin the hunt. “Let’s get to it.” When he’d led men into battle, he’d preferred to just lead by example, from the front. The words had always come hard, but since he’d wound up in charge of this expedition, it felt like he should say something motivational. “Most of you don’t know much about what we’re after, or where we’re going, just that it’s dangerous as hell, but you were all man enough to volunteer to do what has to be done… So thanks.”

And that was as good as the motivation was going to get. “You all had a chance to back out. You’re still here, which means you’re stuck. Captain Southunder runs this ship. I run this operation. You all know who you answer to and you know the chain of command. You got a problem, I’ll listen, but if you don’t like my decision, too bad. Questions? No? Good. So let me tell you what we’re up against.”