After six hours of ass-pounding terrain, they finally arrived.
Henry’s spine was killing him. The path had been better than wilderness in the same way that getting punched was better than getting stabbed – a meaningful distinction only to someone who hadn’t experienced either recently. Every rut and root had found its way through the MRAP’s suspension with surgical precision, like the environment itself was out to get them.
Ron half-fell out of the driver’s seat, moving like he’d just been released from a medieval torture device. Which, in a sense, he had.
“Bro.” He pressed both hands into his lower back, grimacing. “My ass is destroyed.”
“Phrasing.”
“Nah, I said what I said. Shit’s gone. Can’t feel nothing. That road went full Diddy on me.”
Henry looked over at Ron. “I don’t think Diddy’s the reference you want right now.”
“You right, you right. Fleece Johnson, then. I am the booty warrior’s victim.” Ron stretched, winced, stretched again. “Ain’t even get dinner first. Just straight to the—”
“Alright, man,” Henry forced through a chortle. He then decided to exit the conversation by exiting the vehicle.
He gathered the others and started work on concealing the MRAPs.
Sera did most of the heavy lifting, using her earth magic to sculpt berms around the vehicles – miniature bunkers rising out of the ridge, almost indistinguishable from a typical boulder. She shaped it with about as much effort as a kid at the beach piling sand, which honestly made Henry feel inadequate.
Meanwhile, everyone else got to do the grunt work: laying branches, stuffing gaps with shrubbery, pretending to be useful. By the time they finished, the MRAPs looked a lot less like vehicles and more like standard rock formations glazed by a recent snowfall.
With that settled, Henry turned his attention toward the ridge.
The ridge matched what the ISR had promised – good elevation over the convoy route, Korth Varren visible about four klicks northeast. The basin below was fully exposed, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They’d spent six hours on that Godforsaken path specifically to avoid detection, added half a day to the trip just to skirt the observation post, and now they had exactly the position they’d wanted. Textbook.
Which made it all the more impressive that Lucan had chosen to park his carriage right next to the ridge.
Sure. Just let the goblins wander over and take a look. Not like they’d taken the long way around for any particular reason. But hey, why bother pulling behind a tree when he could announce their presence to the entire valley instead?
Henry walked over. Lucan had busied himself with his sword belt, making some micro-adjustment that probably mattered only to him. Tancred stood at his shoulder like a rather well-armed shadow.
“Lucan. You need to move your carriage.”
Lucan did not look up. His fingers continued their work on the belt, as though Henry had not spoken at all. Several seconds passed before he deigned to glance at the carriage – brief, disinterested – and then returned his attention to the buckle.
“It shall serve well enough where it stands.”
“It’s visible from down low.”
“My dear Captain.” Lucan said it like he was talking to the special ed classroom. All that fucking condescension. “No patrol shall venture this far afield. We who have conducted operations in these mountains understand the habits of the Velkrath garrison rather better than foreign… observers.”
Henry shared a look with Sera.
Is this motherfucker stupid?
Sera’s expression suggested she was asking herself the same rhetorical question.
She stepped forward slightly. “Then you’ll not begrudge us a precaution or two. The tree line is but a few paces hence – so trifling an effort cannot be beneath your dignity, surely.”
Lucan finally looked at her, but wearing that expression rich assholes got when the waiter brought the wrong wine.
“Lady Seraphine.” Lucan barely acknowledged her. “To hear you parroting American fretfulness is not a thing I expected.” His eyes flicked to Henry. “I had assumed a woman of your rank knew better.”
“Tell me, Sir Lucan – are you truly so dull as to think discovery poses no danger? Or is it merely that caution taxes you beyond endurance?”
Lucan didn’t budge. “The carriage remains where it stands. I shall not rearrange my affairs to satisfy the nervousness of outlanders who scarce know which end of a sword to grasp.”
“I confess myself curious, Sir Lucan – are your vaunted Chosen quite so steadfast as you declare?” She turned to the mage, who’d been real interested in her staff since the argument started. “Your mage, for instance, appears rather less sanguine upon the matter than yourself. Unless, of course, I misinterpret so telling a countenance.”
The mage looked up, the color drained from her face. “I – Sir Lucan, I should not presume to—”
“No, no. By all means.” Lucan’s voice had gone uncharacteristically soft, almost gentle. “It seems Lady Seraphine believes you have thoughts worth hearing. Pray, do not let modesty stay your tongue.”
He took a casual step toward his mage, like the distance between them was his to close whenever he felt like it.
“Speak plain, Lady Vaela. If you harbor opinions on the matter, then let us all hear them. I would know the minds of my comrades.”
The mage had gone seriously pale, looking the way people looked right before a SERE instructor decided to make an example out of them.
When she finally spoke, it was with the sheepish tension of someone trying to pick their way through a minefield. “The concealment… would not be imprudent, Sir. The danger may be slight, yes, only – only the remedy is slighter still. And we stand rather close to the fortress, if I may say so.”
Lucan just looked at her.
Henry couldn’t get a read on what was about to happen – and that was the part that bothered him.
“You see, Vaela,” Lucan said, pacing around her. “This is precisely why I hold you in esteem. Though you oft bury yourself in grimoires, you dare a thought; you hazard a word.” His hand settled on her shoulder; she flinched despite herself. “That is courage, my dear. A virtue in lamentably short supply. I trust you’ll not be shy of offering me your counsel again. Freely. Openly.”
Tancred stepped forward, eager. “Sir Lucan, you needn’t vex yourself with the opinions of those beneath you. The carriage lies precisely where it ought; your judgment in such matters is ever unerring!” He bowed his head a fraction too quickly. “I daresay Lady Vaela might profit from observing you more closely. More time afield under your example would cure any lingering hesitations.”
Lucan regarded his henchman with a smirk. “I heed your wisdom at this very moment. I cultivate a keen interest in the judgments of those beneath my station; how else might a commander take the measure of his own?”
He turned to the healer. “What say you, Lady Maren?”
She sighed, her demeanor more like that of a tired nurse compared to Vaela’s nervous schoolgirl. “The concealment asks little of us, and it avails us little to raise tempers now. On the eve of battle, a measure of harmony is worth more than we like to admit.”
Huh. So not everyone in Lucan’s Chosen was a complete meatrider. Not to mention her guile – she’d given that bastard an out that didn’t require admitting fault.
Lucan addressed his tank next. “And you, Sir Corrin?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. If Henry had to guess, he probably saw this as above his pay grade.
“It would seem,” Lucan said finally, “that the matter has attracted more concern than it warrants.” He turned to Tancred. “See it done. Conceal our carriage, and let us put this… discussion to rest.”
Tancred looked like he’d just been slapped, all his effort apparently for naught. “Sir —”
“I needn’t repeat myself, Tancred.”
The words landed like another slap, but Tancred took them like a man – or rather, like an obedient pup. “At once, Sir Lucan.”
He moved off toward the carriage, Vaela following.
Lucan turned back to Henry. The courtesy was entirely gone now.
“I trust your anxieties are now quieted, Captain. Should any further doubts plague you, I am sure my people can spare a moment to soothe them.”
He walked away before Henry could respond.
“Shit, I kinda feel bad for Vaela,” he said, once Lucan was out of earshot. “Lucan won’t be forgetting that.”
“Oh, assuredly,” Sera said. “I had not expected such resolve of any member of Lucan’s Chosen.”
“Yeah. Gives me hope for the op, at least.”
Henry found an alcove near the MRAPs, tucked away under a thick evergreen. With Sera’s magic, they smoothedsmoothened out the ground and set up a proper camp.
The next few hours passed without incident, both sides sticking to their vehicles.
In that time, Ron had commandeered a flat rock as his prep station, ingredients lined up like he was prepping for surgery. He finished prepping the bulgogi, sealing everything and tucking the stuff into the Holding Cart’s fridge for tomorrow. He’d narrated the whole process to Sera, who’d listened politely without understanding much.
By the time full dark settled over the ridge, the temperature had dropped enough that breath fogged and extra layers had migrated out of packs. Henry found a spot near the eastern edge with a decent angle on both camps and settled in with his phone, running through Bloons.
That was when he smelled wood smoke, drifting through the ridge as though someone had completely forgotten that they were supposed to be setting up an ambush.
He looked over at Lucan’s camp, half of him hoping that he was wrong. The other half, much as he hated to admit, hoped for vindication – that he had been right about Lucan all along.
Of course, he found the latter. They had a small flame going – maybe about a foot high, flames licking up around a hanging pot while Tancred crouched beside it, arranging kindling like they were on a fucking camping trip and not four klicks from a fortress full of hostiles the night before a major op.
Incredible.
Henry shared a look with Sera, then crossed over to Lucan’s camp.
The man himself was seated on a flat stone near the fire, posture relaxed, watching Tancred work like it was mildly entertaining television. Vaela had positioned herself as far from the flames as she could while still technically being part of the group. Maren sat closer, face carefully blank – she must’ve raised objections and had been shut down, if Henry had to guess. Corrin, meanwhile, stuck to sharpening his blade, apparently unbothered.
“Put it out,” Henry said.
Lucan let a few seconds pass before looking up, clearly trying to make sure Henry knew his arrival wasn’t worth rushing for.
“I beg your pardon?”
Playing dumb, huh? Henry kept his temper in check; the drill instructors they’d borrowed from the Marines had put them through worse. Still, he did want to give Lucan the slightest piece of his mind. “You deaf?”
Lucan countered rapidly, “Do you intend to feed us?”
That honestly caught Henry off guard. Seriously, bringing non-perishable food was basic logistics!
“You didn’t bring rations? Dried food, jerky, anything?”
“We’ve prepared provisions for civilized travel. Do you mean for my men to gnaw at raw grain like beasts in a field?”
Henry glanced at Sera. She gave him nothing – face neutral, waiting to see how he’d play it.
The thing was, they had plenty to share. The Holding Cart was stocked well beyond what Alpha Team needed for a two-day op. Turkey, ham, roast beef, cheese, bread, condiments – enough to feed Lucan’s whole party twice over and still have leftovers. Sharing wouldn’t cost them anything material.
But that wasn’t the point.
If he rolled over now, after Lucan had already started the fire, after the man had already dismissed his concerns twice today – what message would that send? That Henry would clean up his messes? That Alpha Team’s resources were Lucan’s fallback whenever his own planning fell short?
Give an inch here, and Lucan would no doubt take a mile and then some later on. Guaranteed.
“Sounds like you didn’t plan your mission properly,” Henry said. “Not my problem.”
Tancred stepped forward, hand drifting toward his sword. “You dare speak to Sir Lucan in such a—”
“Tancred.” Lucan didn’t look at him. “Do be silent.”
Tancred’s mouth snapped shut.
The smart move was probably to let it go. They needed Lucan for Velkrath – needed his Chosen, needed his Tier Nine bullshit, needed bodies on the ground when they inevitably ran into the Goblin King and whatever Nobian lackeys were on site. This was just the appetizer, a convoy ambush that Alpha Team could’ve handled solo without breaking a sweat. If Henry pushed too hard now, Lucan would retaliate. Not outright sabotage, per se – even he wasn’t that stupid – but at least some amount of petty friction, which could be enough to get someone killed.
Was a campfire worth that? Realistically, what were the chances of the goblins spotting a small campfire and trekking their way out here in this cold-ass weather?
“Sir Lucan.” Maren approached them. “If I may.”
Lucan turned, irritation barely concealed. “Speak.”
“The trouble is the smoke, is it not? If so, the pot may be warmed through the metal itself, and no sign need betray us.”
Corrin grunted from his spot by the fire. “Suits me well enough. Long as it cooks, I’ve no call to fuss.”
“Very well.” Lucan waved a hand, already turning away. “Douse the flames. Lady Maren shall see to the rest.”
Tancred scrambled to comply, kicking dirt over the fire with more force than necessary. The flames hissed and died.
Henry walked away without any satisfaction. He was two for two on making Lucan back down, and the man definitely wasn’t the forgive-and-forget type, and that wasn’t anything to celebrate.
Ron had laid out his spread by the time they got back – turkey, ham, roast beef, three kinds of cheese, fresh bread, lettuce, tomato, pickles. He even had condiments, from mayo to that fancy aioli Doc had brought from Armstrong for reasons nobody had questioned.
Henry grabbed a plate. Built his sandwich with more attention than it probably deserved – layers of turkey and roast beef, Swiss cheese, a healthy spread of aioli, lettuce and tomato because he liked to round off the texture. The bread was still soft. The meat was cold and fresh. After six hours in that MRAP and two rounds with Lucan, it tasted like victory.
While they ate, he set up three-hour shifts for the night. He and Sera would take the first shift, 2200 to 0100. Hayes and Yen would get the next shift. Doc and Ron would pull the dead hours into dawn, which Ron had accepted with only minimal complaining.
“What of Lucan’s people?” Sera asked, keeping her voice low.
Henry had considered that. Vaela he somewhat trusted – she’d shown spine during the carriage argument, and her instincts seemed sound. Maren had also proven herself reasonable twice now, which put her ahead of most of the Chosen. The others, though…
“They can handle their own shifts,” he said.
Everyone agreed. They all knew as well as he did that trusting Tancred with overwatch was asking for trouble, and Lucan himself would probably consider standing watch beneath his station.
After wrapping up dinner, they settled in for a long night.