Free Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) by Myke Cole Page B

fighters launching airborne.
    Whatever was going on, it was big.
    He had no helmet, no go bag, no ammunition, and no idea what the hell he was supposed to do.
    He was caught up short by a couple of MPs outside the office, who pushed him back gently, but firmly. “Sorry, sir. It’s off-limits until we get this situation resolved.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” Bookbinder asked.
    “My office is in there!”
    “Sorry, sir. We have our orders.”
    “Well, I’m giving you new orders! Now get the hell out of my way!”
    The MPs didn’t budge.
    “At least tell me what’s going on?”
    The MPs shared a look before shrugging. “Goblins breached the perimeter, sir. Suitability Assessment is overrun.”
    “The SASS?” His stomach turned over. That was where Oscar Britton trained daily and next door to Shadow Coven’s quarters. “What about P–Block? Is that intact?”
    “Sorry, sir. We don’t know.”
    “Damn it! Let me talk to Colonel Taylor!”
    The MP was about to say something when Taylor emerged from the office in full battle dress. He made for an electric cart idling in the mud.
    Bookbinder lunged forward, but the MPs held him back.
    “Colonel Taylor!” Bookbinder shouted. “Where do you want me? I can help!”
    Taylor jerked toward Bookbinder’s voice, his eyes rolling in disgust.
    “I can help!” Bookbinder shouted again, straining against the MPs.
    “The hell you can,” Taylor said. He turned to the MPs. “Keep him here. I am not sending back to Washington for another goddamn J1!” He jumped on the cart and rumbled off toward the fighting.
    Bookbinder shook off the MPs. “I’ll have your goddamn stripes,” he growled.
    The MPs looked unimpressed. “Why don’t you head back to your hooch, sir? I’m sure Colonel Taylor will let you know if there’s anything you can do to pitch in. For now, it’s important that you keep yourself safe.”
    Bookbinder opened his mouth to curse them, then felt ashamed. They were following orders. Good officers didn’t take their setbacks out on their people.
    He returned to his hooch and sat on his rack, listening to the staccato of gunfire and the occasional whoosh-pop of heavier ordnance. Every so often, the crackle of energy indicated magic’s presence in the fight raging nearby.
    The fight that had no need of him.
    Should he circumvent the MPs? Find a way to get into the battle? And then what? He could barely shoot. Christ, he hadn’t shot in so long, he wasn’t even sure if he knew how to take it off safety. Besides, he was a colonel. He wasn’t supposed to be shooting. He was supposed to be commanding.
    Bookbinder could commanded brigades of soldiers to process paperwork or fund operations. But he had no idea what one soldier was supposed to do in a firefight, much less a brigade.
    He would be a hindrance.
    Taylor was right. He was better off here.
    The thought set him to feeling sorry for himself again, and this time he managed to stave off the self-pitying tears as he drifted off to sleep.
    And was jolted awake for the second time that night.
    The door to the hooch slammed open, jerking Bookbinder out of sleep and banging his head on the wardrobe again. Taylor stood in the doorway, his uniform smeared with dirt, his helmet gone. His body armor looked burned and splashed with long streaks of dried blood.
    “You want to help? Now’s your chance. Meet me at my office. I need you on station in ten minutes.”
    And he was gone, leaving Bookbinder wondering if he’d dreamed it.
    He’d fallen asleep in his uniform this time, so he clomped down the short flight of stairs out of his hooch and down the muddy track toward the office. The night was eerily quiet, broken only by the short reports of single shots and the occasional shout. A single helicopter made lazy loops over the smoking ruins of the SASS, searchlight sweeping beneath it. A small unit of Aeromancers circled behind it, occasionally illuminating the sky with bursts of flickering