Chương 57: Double trouble

EPISODE 14: WINGS

 

The call with Nila stretched on for a little over 4 hours. Our conversation was punctuated with pauses—moments when I had to shift my location, or long intervals during which Nila conferred with Nala and Rohini. As the hours ticked away, the entire day was consumed in preparing for the impending 'rescue mission'. Even without a grand strategy, it took considerable time for Nila to persuade everyone of the timing’s perfection. Subsequently, I had to delve into a meticulous description of the camp, detailing its layout, inherent challenges, and potential roadblocks.

Firstly, the alarms. They’re hardwired to connect not only with the main HQ in England but also every British military base on the subcontinent. The moment they’re triggered, every British soldier in the vicinity will be alerted. Sabotaging these alarms isn’t feasible; I neither possess the technical know-how to deactivate them nor the luxury of time to attempt such a move. The reality is clear: the alarm will go off. However, if our assault is swift and precise, it shouldn’t matter. The British army remains in the dark about the exact location from which the Punjabi separatists operate. We’ve made educated guesses, and my desert mission was aimed at confirming these, but given its failure, their intelligence is still lacking.

Camps like these are fortified to withstand sieges until reinforcements arrive. Three primary defence mechanisms ensure this: autonomous surveillance drones patrolling the perimeter, night vision cameras positioned at the four cardinal points, and ever-watchful soldiers who meander around the camp and oversee from the watchtower. While I suspect the drones might not employ night vision, they likely use infrared technology for nocturnal operations. Their autonomous nature means that any perceived threat or damage would trigger a minor alert, notifying the soldiers monitoring the feed. This would either result in a team dispatched to retrieve the damaged drone or, if deemed a legitimate threat, the sounding of the main alarm.

If I can incapacitate the camera operators without raising suspicions and if the rebels can converge swiftly, we’ll have a brief window before the camp becomes fully alert. This almost-perfect plan has a flaw: the alternate alarm system in the watchtower. My route, then, requires a mad dash from the cameras to the tower, with the hope that I don’t encounter any patrolling soldiers, to neutralize the tower’s defences. Then, and only then, can I signal the rebels.

Night has settled, casting long, cold shadows over the camp, and with the curfew in effect, I quietly slip out of my quarters. My roommate, 2nd Lieutenant Crowsclaws, could have been a potential hindrance. Fortunately, he’s conspicuously absent, likely ensnared in some mission or duty.

My earlier stints as a watchman come in handy. With an intimate knowledge of the guard routes and pauses, I move like a shadow, avoiding detection. Soon, I find myself outside the security room. In a move of brazen audacity, I simply knock on the door.

Gaining entry into this room without using its sole door is a fool’s errand. Sneaking in stealthily would be immediately thwarted if I had the misfortune of either of the two soldiers monitoring the cameras glancing over and catching me in the act of opening the door.

Adding to my precarious situation, I’m conspicuously unarmed. At this hour, wielding a rifle would undoubtedly raise eyebrows. Besides, a gunshot would reverberate throughout the camp, triggering the alarm and jeopardizing the entire operation.

A voice, youthful and curious, emerges from within. “Who is it?”

Taking a deep breath, I open the door, giving a crisp salute. “White Snake, reporting. I come at the behest of 2nd Lieutenant Crowsclaws. He’s requested the 139th Indus deployment documents from the 2003 report by General Bridge.”

As the dim light spills into the room, a surprising sight greets me. The two Privates I recognize are the ones who assisted Robin just the day before. Likely, their illicit actions had been discovered, landing them on this watch duty as some form of punishment. Their eyes, wide with surprise, lock onto mine momentarily, but military discipline reigns, and they nod in acknowledgment. “Roger.”

Being the 2nd lieutenant’s roommate carries with it an assumed trust in the eyes of the other soldiers. With the absence of higher-ranking officers, his commands bear unchallenged weight. Hence, none dare question the oddity of his orders being relayed through me.

As they busy themselves, rummaging through the digital files on their computers, I quietly shut the door, sealing us in. My heart pounds loudly in my chest as my gaze settles on a familiar, cold metal object in the corner: a fire extinguisher.

I tread with cat-like stealth, moving ever closer to them. The male soldier, engrossed in the data flashing across his screen, is oblivious to the looming threat. With swift precision, I strike him at the base of his skull. His head crashes onto the table, rendering him unconscious instantly. Selecting him first was a calculated move; in a direct confrontation, he would have posed a greater threat than his female counterpart.

She gasps, her fingers darting towards the alarm button. But before she can sound the alert, I swing the extinguisher at her arm. A pained shriek escapes her lips. Grateful for the door’s sturdy build, I know her cries remain confined within these walls.

Desperation evident in her eyes, she struggles, attempting to block my blows with her remaining strength. She rolls onto the floor, unsheathing a knife, poised to strike. But I’m quicker, smashing the extinguisher onto her hand, and the sickening crunch of bone drowns out her screams.

Her pitiable form writhes on the cold floor, attempting in vain to protect herself. Her cries for help go unanswered. Mounting her, I pin her down, pressing onto her neck, cutting off her air supply until her body goes limp beneath me.

To ensure the two of them pose no further threat, I line them up and ruthlessly deliver a series of blows until my hands tremble with exhaustion. A grim smile spreads across my face.

Alright… Phase one, accomplished.

I pick up the girl’s knife. Holding it sends a cold shiver down my spine. Swiftly, I snatch the key resting on the table and lock the door securely behind me. My next destination? The training ground. I need to arm myself with a rifle.

But as fate would have it, on my path, I encounter an unforeseen obstacle—the corporal from 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna’s squad.

“Good evening, habibti,” he greets, his head tilting slightly. “Has it started?”

The darkness conceals his features, but the faint outline of his gas mask is discernible. It obscures his expression, making him an enigma.

Suddenly, like phantoms emerging from the gloom, four other figures join him. A sergeant, a specialist, a 1st class private, and another corporal—all staring eerily at me from behind the confines of their gas masks.

A shiver runs down my spine, not from the cold, but from the menacing aura emanating from this masked assembly. The weight of their collective gaze is almost palpable. Without a word, they pivot, heading in the direction of the laboratory.

“Come, Gini. We have something for you,” the corporal’s voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the silence of the night.

 

---

 

“Major, you should try to sleep,” I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“How can I sleep in this situation?” He exhales heavily, the weight of his thoughts evident in that sigh.

The meeting concluded with the collective decision to retreat, if only for the time being. We’ll inform our superiors that we were coerced by the Nubians to relinquish control. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, and the repercussions will be endless. But, for now, it’s the most prudent choice. Engaging the Nubians is simply not an option.

Yet, I can see the major is churning inside. While we’ve been granted one of the plushiest rooms in the dormitories, he lies restless, continuously massaging his furrowed brow.

“Why aren’t you trying to sleep either, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna?”

I hesitate, choosing my words. “It’s noisy.”

He frowns. “What is?”

“In my mind. An endless cacophony. When I close my eyes, it’s as if the clamour amplifies.”

He pushes himself up a little to better regard me, his weary eyes searching mine. “Do you have nightmares? I’m plagued by them.”

“Yes, but not like yours, Major. Yours likely stem from PTSD. I’ve never experienced traumas that might trigger such a condition.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, I’m fairly ordinary.”

His chuckle is low, almost rueful. “I wouldn’t say that…”

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An elongated silence ensues, with only the distant hum of the base to fill the void. Finally, I venture, “Major…”

He quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t you yearn to return?”

He blinks in surprise. “What are you implying, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna?”

With a determined gesture, I extend my hand. “Don’t you long to revisit the camp?”

“Right now?”

“If neither of us can find sleep, why wait?”

His grin is infectious, casting away the shadows of our conversation. “What do you propose, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna?”

“Let’s engage in one final bout, Major,” I whisper, my tone somber.

He grips my hand, the rough texture of his palm contrasting against the tenderness of the burns on mine.

But this discomfort? It’s negligible.

The end draws near…

 

---

 

The meeting with 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna’s squad concludes more swiftly than anticipated, and the fog of confusion finally lifts for me.

Time is of the essence. The changing of the guards is imminent. When the rotation occurs, they’ll uncover the aftermath in the camera room. With adrenaline fueling my steps, I sprint to the watchtower.

Scaling its heights proves uncomplicated. There’s only one soldier on duty, attentively scanning the horizon through his binoculars. Clearly, the internal security protocols never factored in the potential betrayal from within.

Silently, I creep up on him and thrust the girl’s knife into his neck, the angle askew due to my inexperience. The knife doesn’t hit its mark precisely, but the soldier crumples in agony, clutching at the wound and sobbing. Using the crook of my arm to stifle his cries, I withdraw the blade and drive it in again, this time with more precision. He topples over the watchtower’s railing, plummeting to the ground with an echoing thud.

“Perimeter secured,” I announce, my voice steady.

“Roger,” Nila’s voice crackles in my ear implant.

Our meticulous planning included Nila being my eyes and ears, informing the rest when the coast was clear.

Absorbed in my thoughts, I expose myself on the watchtower. The soldier’s screams and the audible impact of his fall might’ve drawn attention.

“WHO GOES THERE?!” A voice, distinctly feminine and familiar, bellows from behind.

Whirling around, I find Robin, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hahaha, so it’s you, Snakey! Out past curfew? Seeking some excitement?” she teases.

“Enough,” I snap, icy tones cutting through the night air.

She feigns shock, her hand fluttering to her chest. “My, my! Learned some backbone, have you?”

“Will you sound the alarm or let me pass?” I inquire, the gentle breeze carrying my words away into the ether.

Her lips, painted with the soft hue of bubblegum pink, stretch into a mischievous grin. Nonchalantly, she pops her gum, the sound echoing eerily. “Oh, my dear,” she chuckles, her voice like a haunting lullaby, “Tonight isn’t the night you’ll slip through my fingers.”

With the grace of a tempest, she lunges towards the alarm, her voice rising like the crescendo of a tragic opera. “ALERT! AWAKEN! THE WHITE SNAKE BETRAYED US!”

I move with practised precision, my foot snapping out to halt her path. But she, ever the nimble cat to my stalking snake, manages to clutch my ankle, sending us both into a whirlwind of movement and chaos. The world seems to tilt as I collide with the cold, hard ground of the tower.

Just as the stars above begin to regain clarity, a shadow eclipses them, and a sharp pain flares across my face—her retaliatory strike. She is relentless, lunging once more for that accursed button. But desperation lends me speed. Catching her ankle mid-flight, I mount a swift counter, our battle turning frenetic. I try to blind her, my fingers seeking her eyes, intent on shrouding her in darkness.

With a roar that rivals the fiercest storm, she summons strength from unknown depths and casts me aside like a ragdoll. As I skid across the tower, I catch sight of her gaze–it is aflame, the fire of fury painting her irises a deep shade of scarlet. “You insufferable little wretch,” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom.

With the alarm button in her reach, she prepares to sound the base-wide alert, but then I take my shot.

The contraption on my arm defies convention. It bears no resemblance to a traditional bow or rifle.

Its barrel is sinuous, like a serpent, with the capacity to contort and expand. The telescopic sight takes the form of a gleaming golden arrow, while the bolt handle glows with an inner fire. Instead of a conventional trigger, a thick white thread is suspended. The buttstock, broad and cavernous, engulfs one’s arm, similar to a crossbow, held in place by a set of straps. Remarkably, this design permits accurate firing even when standing, with arms fully extended. Shooting requires a simple clenching of the fist and a gentle tug on the string-trigger, reminiscent of playing a harp. The white chassis of the weapon is adorned with vivid patterns in red and purple, accented by intricate Devanagari inscriptions.

The missile it releases moves at a speed that blurs the senses, slicing through the air with an ear-piercing shriek. It strikes Robin’s forehead before her finger can make contact with the alarm. The noise emitted is more akin to the resonant twang of a sitar than the explosive report of a bullet. This sound is swiftly followed by a whistle, reminiscent of a kettle reaching boil, and the sizzle of burning embers.

Robin stands frozen in shock, her expression turning from fury to disbelief in a matter of seconds. Her muscular frame leans backwards due to the force of impact from the missile, revealing the devastating aftermath of the blast. Smoke rises from her forehead, a stark contrast against the glistening, radiant hue of her crimson hair. Bits of charred flesh and singed clothing litter the ground, emitting an overwhelming stench of burnt flesh. Her face is unrecognizable, her features robbed and replaced with a red, bubbling mass. Her eyelids have melted away, leaving dark hollows in their wake. Her mouth, now an open crater, reveals a set of blackened teeth. What was once a full mane of carnelian locks is now nothing more than a smouldering mess, strands of hair sticking to her exposed and mangled flesh.

In this moment of dire straits, a fleeting thought passes—a bizarre realization dawning upon me. The weapon attached to my arm, the instrument of Robin’s demise, holds a mythic essence. Like the divine bow granted by the gods, my weapon has served its purpose, exacting what could be seen as a form of cosmic justice. The resonance of its strike, the almost celestial shrieks it emits, and the dreadfully magnificent devastation it bequeaths are all too akin to a divine intervention, a smite from the heavens themselves.

“For Ishqam!” My laughter, tinged with madness, fills the air. But the gravity of my situation soon becomes clear.

For one, the racket I’ve made could likely rouse the entire camp.

Additionally, the strain of the encounter hits me full force. My legs buckle, sending me crashing to my knees. I retch violently, and blood streaks from my ears. The pain is so overpowering, my consciousness wavers as I teeter atop the tower.

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