Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure Page B
Authors: Kathleen McClure
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He paused, considering his options. They were ostensibly on a top-secret mission so waving a big flag at the first airship to pass seemed contraindicated. Logically they should sit quiet and wait for the Kodiak to either make contact or fly on.
"Her cannon are moving into fire position," Fehr, still looking through the telescope, reported. "Should I call the company to arms?"
"We are not going to fire on one of our own ‘ships." Though if one of their own ‘ships believed enemy forces were lurking in this grove, it'd be a bad day all around. He made up his mind. "Radio, hail the Kodiak with my compliments and ask why they're hovering over our super-secret rendezvous."
At that moment, the radio squawked for attention.
"Or not," Gideon said as Carver leaned close over the machine, adjusting the signal. "I'm guessing that's for us?"
"Sir, yes, sir. Colonel," she looked up, pulling the headphones off, "Kodiak requests our identification and purpose in this location."
"Give me that," Gideon held out a hand for the headset and held it to his ear, the mic curving close enough to speak. “CAS Kodiak, this is Colonel Gideon Quinn, 12 th Company, 63 rd Regiment, currently engaged in a classified mission."
There was the usual static-filled pause, then, "Kodiak to Colonel Quinn please specify the nature of your mission and provide your Ident number for verification, over."
"Seriously?" Gideon looked from his tense officers to the rapidly approaching airship, now ominously close.
Mulowa had just joined the little tea clatch. "Any reason her cannon are live, sir?" she asked Fehr.
"Technically we close to enemy territory," Fehr pointed out.
"Technically, so are they," Gideon said.
"Kodiak to Colonel Quinn, please respond, over."
"Right," he hefted the mic. "Colonel Quinn, here, ident number Echo-seven-niner-four-delta-zero-zero-four, requesting you a) look up the term 'classified' and b') put Captain Pitte on the line, over."
He waited, the radio sizzled. "Quinn to Kodiak, do you read? Over."
"They are taking aim," Fehr said.
"At what?" Gideon asked though he knew, somehow, he knew.
The lieutenant let the telescope drop to his side and looked back at his superior. "At us."
Gideon was already calling for the company to take cover when the first shot struck the escarpment, just below where Fehr stood. The lieutenant's expression never changed as the precipice gave way beneath him.
That was what Gideon remembered most about the young lieutenant's death — that he hadn't had the time to look surprised.
* * *
In the bathroom of a diner in Nike, nearly seven years after the Kodiak fired on the ridge at Nasa, Gideon's hands were wrapped around the sides of the sink, knuckles white as the memory of that day, and those deaths, washed over him.
Because Fehr had been only the first. Carver, Siska, Duvagne, Mulowa and Walsingham — half of the company — had also died that day.
And so it was that every night spent in Morton, as he collapsed in his bunk, Gideon would close his eyes on the names of those six soldiers, painstakingly scratched into the wall at his side.
Those years in Morton, those were on Rand, and Gideon meant to see about that.
But the names on the wall — the six dead soldiers — those were on Pitte.
C HAPTER S IXTEEN
AS GIDEON STALKED off to the bathroom, Jinna turned to Mia. “Where,” she said, “did you dig that one up?”
Mia turned her gaze from Gideon’s retreating back to her friend’s disapproving face. “He was supposed to be a mark,” she admitted, “but things got twisty.”
“He was a mark?” Disapproval gave way to amazement. “And how much of your fagin’s booze did you down when you marked him?”
Which seemed to Mia to be an overreaction. “It was the fagin’s call,” she said. “And I know Gideon don’t look like much…”
“I’ll tell you what he looks like,” Jinna said darkly, “he looks like trouble.”
“He’s a bit ragged, yeah,
"Her cannon are moving into fire position," Fehr, still looking through the telescope, reported. "Should I call the company to arms?"
"We are not going to fire on one of our own ‘ships." Though if one of their own ‘ships believed enemy forces were lurking in this grove, it'd be a bad day all around. He made up his mind. "Radio, hail the Kodiak with my compliments and ask why they're hovering over our super-secret rendezvous."
At that moment, the radio squawked for attention.
"Or not," Gideon said as Carver leaned close over the machine, adjusting the signal. "I'm guessing that's for us?"
"Sir, yes, sir. Colonel," she looked up, pulling the headphones off, "Kodiak requests our identification and purpose in this location."
"Give me that," Gideon held out a hand for the headset and held it to his ear, the mic curving close enough to speak. “CAS Kodiak, this is Colonel Gideon Quinn, 12 th Company, 63 rd Regiment, currently engaged in a classified mission."
There was the usual static-filled pause, then, "Kodiak to Colonel Quinn please specify the nature of your mission and provide your Ident number for verification, over."
"Seriously?" Gideon looked from his tense officers to the rapidly approaching airship, now ominously close.
Mulowa had just joined the little tea clatch. "Any reason her cannon are live, sir?" she asked Fehr.
"Technically we close to enemy territory," Fehr pointed out.
"Technically, so are they," Gideon said.
"Kodiak to Colonel Quinn, please respond, over."
"Right," he hefted the mic. "Colonel Quinn, here, ident number Echo-seven-niner-four-delta-zero-zero-four, requesting you a) look up the term 'classified' and b') put Captain Pitte on the line, over."
He waited, the radio sizzled. "Quinn to Kodiak, do you read? Over."
"They are taking aim," Fehr said.
"At what?" Gideon asked though he knew, somehow, he knew.
The lieutenant let the telescope drop to his side and looked back at his superior. "At us."
Gideon was already calling for the company to take cover when the first shot struck the escarpment, just below where Fehr stood. The lieutenant's expression never changed as the precipice gave way beneath him.
That was what Gideon remembered most about the young lieutenant's death — that he hadn't had the time to look surprised.
* * *
In the bathroom of a diner in Nike, nearly seven years after the Kodiak fired on the ridge at Nasa, Gideon's hands were wrapped around the sides of the sink, knuckles white as the memory of that day, and those deaths, washed over him.
Because Fehr had been only the first. Carver, Siska, Duvagne, Mulowa and Walsingham — half of the company — had also died that day.
And so it was that every night spent in Morton, as he collapsed in his bunk, Gideon would close his eyes on the names of those six soldiers, painstakingly scratched into the wall at his side.
Those years in Morton, those were on Rand, and Gideon meant to see about that.
But the names on the wall — the six dead soldiers — those were on Pitte.
C HAPTER S IXTEEN
AS GIDEON STALKED off to the bathroom, Jinna turned to Mia. “Where,” she said, “did you dig that one up?”
Mia turned her gaze from Gideon’s retreating back to her friend’s disapproving face. “He was supposed to be a mark,” she admitted, “but things got twisty.”
“He was a mark?” Disapproval gave way to amazement. “And how much of your fagin’s booze did you down when you marked him?”
Which seemed to Mia to be an overreaction. “It was the fagin’s call,” she said. “And I know Gideon don’t look like much…”
“I’ll tell you what he looks like,” Jinna said darkly, “he looks like trouble.”
“He’s a bit ragged, yeah,
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