Here Be Dragons: Alliance, #4

By Kadee Carder

From childhood they were bred as warriors. They win. They defeat. Now Tucker Thompson has been sent to shut them down, with or without a fight. Thunder rolls through the Australian Outback as Thompson faces an enemy wielding fire, ripping through chains, and showing no mercy for the human spirit.

While Thompson has no memory of Australia, he spent six years there. Now as a sergeant in the Alliance Military Guard, he dominates on the field, but doesn't always know why. Even with strikes on his record, his abilities as a loyal soldier are an incredible asset, but convincing the Army Ranger team led by the feisty Captain Cheri Skye proves to be an entirely different kind of battle.
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When the Guard's motives come into question with a global audience watching, Tucker is left wondering what exactly he's fighting for and how he will lead his crew into the Outback to chase the shadows of his past. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kadee Carder
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223615880

Kadee Carder

Fierce yet sparkly, I rally seekers to thrive in their stories. The goal is magic, the medium is ink, and the fuel is coffee. And sometimes pizza. I teach English on the university level when I'm not dancing around the living room with my family, lifting heavy at the gym, traveling the planet, or watching superhero shows.

Book preview

"Here be dragons to be slain,

here be rich rewards to gain;

If we perish in the seeking, why,

how small a thing is death!"

Dorothy L. Sayers

Chapter One

After You

BREATHING LIFE INTO her awoke my own resolution to restore others. Saylor didn’t know I’d revived her. She didn’t know for months, and during that time I traveled across our blue sphere and back to her recovering form at Fort Story, Virginia. Little blonde firecracker. Changed my life.

Sergeant Merritt Steele sat beside me on the cargo plane carrying us to Camp Kissinger, located deep in the heart of Australia’s Outback. Sorry to see them go, my co-commander noted, a slight tremor in his blue eyes. I knew he meant more than he said. He’d connected with Saylor, her sister Micah, and the McConnell family during our three-week leave.

Neither of us knew when or if we’d see them again. But that was life as Echo Company of the Alliance Military Guard, and we held that knowledge closer than our body armor. Never quit. We defeat. Let the enemy fall, come what may. That’s what we did, that’s what we were, and not a single one of us doubted it.

Not even when we landed in a war zone.

MAYDAY! MAYDAY! OUR pilot’s staticky voice fizzled over the intercom. We’ve got land-to-air missiles on our twelve. Switching to evasive maneuvers. Brace for impact!

The plane twitched in the air like a needle in a magnet factory. I yanked on my harness straps to tighten them up.

Rapton never said anything about rumored attacks, Steele muttered.

Captain Elias Burkman leaned over from the bench on the other side of the plane. Rapton likes to leave out details. His massive, shadowy frame filled the space of two men, next to Hawk and Gottschalk.

Just like he left out the fact that these Aussies might not be friendlies? Steele cleared out his throat. The plane lurched again, rumbling all around our small crew.

The intercom switched on again. We’re headed for the nearest landing strip. Camp Kissinger reporting as a pile of rubble. Runway’s gone.

Thundering and wild, the roaring turbo-prop engines droned even louder as the body of the bird bobbed and swayed, rounding in a new direction. My ears popped. My stomach swirled around, hopping up into my chest and then down toward the bench.

Rerouting to a safer passage on the west coast. Exmouth. Stay tuned, folks.

We veered off course, all seven occupants relying on our pilot’s swift maneuvering. Life or death, mates.

We were grateful for the plane, since The Flare reduced the world’s stash of technology to a pile of scrap. When all the lights went out, everyone had to start building in the dark. But they did, and twenty-eight years later Alliance had a nice stockpile of their own gadgetry. Some fancy, some not, but it did the job.

The freighter lurched us toward our next mission.

Hours spun by and my head continued to reel. I should have been studying my impending mission instead of my mistaken future. Knowing the others from Echo Company stayed together in Virginia felt erroneous, like I’d been banished for some reason. There’d always been a sense I belonged, but didn’t quite fit in. Commander McConnell had treated me as his son since Alliance found me abandoned at that bus station when I was eleven and sent me to live with him. Often I felt like I was the cousin who came to stay for the summer. I’d experienced the lack of closeness more so in the last year since Saylor came around, especially after Command caught me watching her training from Deck. The look on his face said more than the excuses wobbling out of my mouth. But she couldn’t be ignored.

Steele thumbed through his papers, tucking his chin to his chest. The noise startled me back to the present and my current squad members.

Land at Kissinger, 2200 hours, he murmured. Objective: Gain control of transport and facilities. Operate with Kissinger officials coordinating relief and extraction of necessary personnel. Exit Kissinger at 0600. He whistled. Good thing there’s no such thing as jet lag.

Or Kissinger. I agreed, dipping my chin at the useless plans Rapton had laid out for us. What’s your call, Number One? What’s to be done with Operation Black Fire?

Steele clamped his lips together, shoving a hearty breath out of his nose. He ran a hand through his sandy buzz cut. Guess it’s more of Operation Wipeout. I hope we have some personnel to extract from Kissinger. First new objective on the list: Walk off the plane.

And back on again.

With our marks. Steele sniffed. Thompson, I’m glad you’re in the seat next to me. Burkman snores.

If our marks from Kissinger are alive, how many will we have to extract? Any word on that yet?

I’ll need to set up my workspace. Take some time to gather your wits. We have minutes till the door opens. Be ready to roll.

Aye. Nodding, we both turned away, Steele flipping papers, and my own fingers reeling for something to clutch. I’d left my black, high-tech Networked EXoskeletal Infiltration System suit (or NEXIS, if you like acronyms) tucked away safely in my bag, along with those other crucial elements I’d need later. The green and tan camouflage Battle Dress Uniform felt more confining than normal, hotter in that cabin than ever.

The bird clunked down with a gut-wrenching rolling of heavy wheels on pavement. The tiny post of Exmouth scurried with activity, brimming with United States Army soldiers awaiting their own deployment and negotiation deals back to the States. Borders across the globe were closing due to impending threats from broken peace treaties and trade embargoes, and these last few wanted home before they were locked out permanently. We’d be their way out, and they all wanted in.

Adjust your booties, mates, Hawk called from across the aisle, pointing to the window behind me. He’d been Echo Company Charlie on Isla Barina and seen many of his team go down fighting. I’d seen him on the field. The guy couldn’t have been a year older than me. Wiry, thin, he moved quicker than most others. Someone once told me over the dinner table he’d asked for ECC because he preferred killing in the mornings.

Outside, against the backdrop of a sunset, crowds littered the runway, green and brown uniforms blending with the grass.

I thought that was the ground, murmured Gottschalk from beside him. Gottschalk leaned toward the window, ruffling his herculean hands through his fluffy chocolate hair, which had stirred itself up from the flight.

Might as well be ants. They can’t all fit in here.

All right! Our pilot belted out as he shut the door to the wheelroom behind him. Grab your loot. We didn’t have permission to land, and we’ve got orders to shove off.

Steele slammed his folder shut, exhaling louder than the engines. Time to go exploring, chums!

Where we going? Burkman questioned.

To see a man about a horse. Steele bent down and began stuffing folders and papers into his green duffel bags.

I thought Alliance had good neighbors here, I suggested to Burkman as we gathered our gear.

Me too. Thought this would be a quick pit stop to help get our crew out. But it’s not looking so clear.

Where’s the crew? I wondered aloud. The evacuees from Kissinger?

More importantly, what happened with Kissinger? Weren’t just Alliance there. U.S. and Australian Army too. Why’d it get blown apart? Pine Gap is right there next to it. Did they get damage?

All great questions. I shrugged, then shouldered my bag. Meanwhile, Steele, where are we headed?

Meeting with the big dogs at Exmouth to see how we can help. Steele grunted, heaving his bag on his back.

No extraction, then?

Seems not today.

Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I added a nod to the chaos. Long-hauling it, then.

Hopefully not too long.

The others hoofed it off the side door, striding down the built-in stairs to the rough ground, one by one. Shoving my cover on my head, I followed the others, awaiting Steele’s hinting statements as to what we’d do next. He’d locked his jaw shut, however, eyes darting about and studying the hordes surrounding the air field. The many voices fanned over the empty concrete, men in various states of standing, sitting, kneeling, or laying down in large groups.

Three official-looking uniforms, one in a neon-orange belted vest, stalked toward us, heads bowed, all three deep in conversation without even a glance our direction. Approximately ten feet out, the one on the far left in his starched BDU and a conglomeration of badges and brightly colored ranking bars on his left chest pocket shoved an angry, disoriented glare our way. Didn’t you receive the notice? he called. No inbound aircraft permitted. We don’t have room here.

Steele stepped forward. Sir, we had to reroute.

I heard you on the coms. We said no. His name badge read Garner.

Tell me how we are supposed to leave the continent without any fuel, sir.

Can’t spare any for you. Shouldn’t have come this way.

Sir? Steele’s nerves and patience began to wear thin. Wouldn’t be long before he decked the officer, regardless of rank or decorum.

You and your crew need to load back up and get off this island. Our evacuations take priority.

Excuse me. The middle uniform spoke up, a slender jaw and thin neck rustling the breezes as she snapped out her words. I may have a solution. Are you willing to accept a load of cargo when you depart? Our compatriots have been working tirelessly to ship out.

I need to speak with Oliver Terbideau, Steele asserted. He’s my contact over here and can explain everything.

Oliver Terbideau? Garner repeated.

Yes? He’s our contact. I spoke with him mid-flight. All was on target for our landing at Kissinger.

The three exchanged glances. The uniform in the middle took a step back and muttered on a black walkie she brought up to her lips. Dipping her head down, her cover blocked any view of her face or mouth, and she aimed her body away from us. They didn’t want us here at all. All three of their body movements relayed as much.

Winds picked up around the airfield, daunting gray clouds overhead wrestling leaves from distant, stubby trees. Heat emanated from every surface around us, between the crowds waiting on the grass, the plane’s pulsating engines, and the ebony cement underfoot. I shifted my boots to relieve some of the burning in the rubber soles.

I can’t leave without the evacuees from Kissinger, Steele reiterated to the uniforms.

Middle officer stepped back toward us, planting her tan boots on the pavement and crossing her arms. Here’s the deal. I’ve got permission to let you stay here twenty-four hours, load you up with a tank of fuel, and you’re out, reckon? Her voice ground against the warm day, like rust and caramel drizzle mixing in a bowl of bolts and nuts. She wasn’t one to be misunderstood. I’ll give you more updates in my office. Is this all of you?

We’d all been nodding, and Steele gave one last affirmative.

Right. With a quick step, she twisted toward a row of dirty white buildings in the distance.

Follow on, Steele added, taking the lead. The five of us shifted bags and gear, waiting for answers, waiting for directives, and tossing not a single backward glance.

THING IS, I DON’T HAVE room for you here. She lowered her steady figure into the chair, for once facing us straight on. SKYE. As she removed her cover from atop her slicked-back sandy bun and placed it on her desk, the name tag caught the light. Such a contradictory name for her personality. Thunderclap might describe her more adequately.

Listen, Steele bargained, can you do me the slightest favor of answering some questions? We’ve been up nearly twenty-four hours straight and could use a few hours without being tossed around.

Skye rolled her almond eyes upward, considering, unimpressed, and pursed her lips.

Burkman popped his head into the office. Steele, Thompson. I’m taking Hawk and Gottschalk to the base exchange next door.

Watch where you stray, Skye interrupted. You’ll need your ID tags. Don’t roam too far. I’ve got transport on its way.

Yes, Captain. Can I get you two anything?

Steele blinked at Burkman with boredom and disdain. Burkman.

Thought I’d ask. Burkman shrugged and backed out, closing the door behind him. The silence sheared away the hallway jumble.

A round, black and white clock on the wall ticked away at the captain’s impatience. Gentlemen, I hate to tell you this. Terbideau has gone missing.

How’s that? Steele reeled.

You saw the destruction at Camp Kissinger from above. Trust me when I say it’s worse at the scene.

We didn’t fly anywhere near it. Our pilot had to reroute when we entered Australian airspace. Then we had lasers waiting for us.

Skye almost laughed as she huffed a sigh of exasperation out her nose. Intel indicates they aren’t real weaponry, but a misrepresentation of what a laser could do. A toy, or a fake, if you will.

Fake or no, we could have crashed up there without the warning.

Sergeant, I’m not sure if you’re aware or not, but we are dealing with a few intense realities out here. The least one of them being your unannounced arrival. Did you crash? No. Did a laser slice through your wing? No. I think you’d best not complain.

Captain, I’m willing to take my crew out of here at your earliest convenience, but I’m curious as to why we are sitting in your office being lectured.

Terbideau. I’d been working with him on extracting a crew from the Reboot site. Didn’t have a lot of specifics.

Reboot?

Kissinger.

Looking back and forth between the two of them, I halfway expected lasers to jump out of someone’s eyes. She obviously didn’t like sharing intel or vetting strangers, and here we sat, strangers, asking her to spill intel. I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting to see who’d crack.

Skye turned to me. What did you say?

Opening my mouth, I shut it before any of my own cargo fell out.

That’s what I thought, she sniped. Her eyes shot over to Steele. You haven’t even heard of Reboot. You aren’t read in. You aren’t tactical. You aren’t prepared for this mission.

Ma’am, Steele began.

Skye held up her hand. Say you’re prepared. I dare you.

I’d like to see the file. We’ve been dealing with strange scenarios and have a vast arsenal at our disposal.

A vast arsenal? Of what, dimwittedness?

Terbideau explained to me the skeleton outline of what we’d be doing. My team is operationally mobile. We’d appreciate some transport.

I’ve got your transport.

So what’s the problem?

You’ve got nowhere to go.

We’ve got Camp Kissinger.

There’s no Camp, Sergeant, that’s what I’m telling you.

Are you sure about that?

She hesitated, chin up to the ceiling and squinting her left eye. Why do you ask?

It’s been my experience that the eye has seen a mere fraction of what lies beneath.

I spoke up with my point’s worth. Alliance operates on a unique conglomeration of smokescreens and impression. There’s the story, and then there’s the real story underneath.

Skye reclined in her chair, the back support bellyaching. You sit here in front of me and tell me your crew operates in a manner I can’t trust. Am I right?

Biting back any testy reply, I gave a slight nod, just as Steele hung his head.

Skye’s glance showed her assessment of us. She let a grin slide across her reddening lips. Those hazel eyes twinkled. Now, that’s the first time I’ve believed you worked with Terbideau. I’d shake your hand if I didn’t think you’d take it.

We don’t—We’re not—This is unreal, Steele muttered, throwing his hand up to rub his temples, leaning his elbow on the chair arm.

What? You don’t steal, Steele? Skye grinned, malicious and mischievous.

She likes puns, I reported to my Number One.

I like a fellow operative who won’t throw me under the bus. Skye gritted her back teeth. Terbideau said something big was comin’. Turned out his intel proved accurate. Now we go find him and your evacuees, as you call them, or what’s left of the carnage.

Steele cleared his throat. May I see the file on Reboot, please?

File. You’re sweet. Terbideau had all the paperwork.

You’ve got nothing?

I’ve got this fancy office, all six square feet of it, and this here desk. I’ve got a nervous assistant the next office over, and a hankering for steak. What say we discuss the missing paperwork and personnel where burning ears can’t hear?

Studying Steele’s guarded reaction, I couldn’t tell if he approved of the idea or not, because all he did was close his manila file folder. But I’d never known the man to turn down beef.

Also, Skye added, standing, tell your burly friend to zip the volume. He’d announce your arrival louder than noon in an alarm clock factory.

Burkman’s voice wavered down the hall, his chortling guffaw adding to the poignancy of Skye’s glare at Steele.

You aren’t by any chance from the South, are you? I asked.

Born and bred. Texas. Ancestors fought at the Alamo.

Makes sense.

What?

You remind me of a few old friends.

Are you from around here, Shorty? Skye again assessed me, I assume noticing my Aussie accent, and making her own assumptions.

I’m—

We’re wasting time, Steele snipped. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

I’m six feet tall! I stated, affronted.

Steele grabbed the doorknob and whipped the door open. Burkman, Gottschalk, and Hawk waited in the white hallway, holding square canisters in their grips.

Canned luncheon meat? Hawk held out a squarish, open can. Writing’s Chinese, except this: High quality. New design.

New design if your stomach needs pumping, Steele scorned. Let’s grab some real food, fellas. He turned to the captain. After you.

Chapter Two

Full Battle Rattle

WE GOT A SATELLITE out there, I argued. Skye had reamed me the whole ride from her office to the restaurant in her jeep. I’d never been so happy to see a ramshackle pile of wood in my life.

Just the one? she bantered.

Isn’t one impressive?

Not when you can’t use it half the day. We have ten, with another launch of five planned.

Fancy that.

It’s all for communication’s sake.

Of course. I didn’t care. I wanted to sleep and eat any kind of any food and drink a gallon of coffee.

Isn’t fifteen impressive? Her eyes twinkled under the lights beaming from the front sign of the building.

If you’re looking at numbers. Quality over quantity, I say. I’d give her that, but she needed to get out of the car.

Fifteen is impressive in this day.

I sighed. Not when one can do the job of twenty.

She made a grunting sound. How’s that possible?

We’ve got the best working on our projects.

Do you?

Yes. I rubbed my temples. Why did the others get to go in the jeep with the nervous assistant?

Then how did you end up stranded here?

Our guy disappeared, apparently.

So even the best can become unreliable.

Sure, I agreed, waving a hand to the audience. When his security team fails him. Aren’t—aren’t you his security team?

She wrinkled her nose then, and jerked the latch up from the armrest in the door. I sighed, throwing my head back to study the fading light overhead. Steele would be excited to know I’d helped the relationship with our Army friends grow stronger.

Skye strutted toward the front of the rickety restaurant. What once might have been a nice place, the wooden siding had seen more than its fair share of hardship. Candles in wax-lined paper bags illuminated the walkway, and a new electricity system had been set up to line the open ceiling, covered with thick canvas and netting. Open windows allowed a warm breeze to slip about and palm trees waved around the perimeter of the building, blocking sight of the nearby ocean and shoreline.

The other transport, a larger jeep, rolled up and parked beside us. The doors opened and they unloaded.

Nice of you to rock up on time. I sighed, opening my door.

If by that you mean thank you, the short assistant whined, shoving the thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose. I called to let Wayland know we’d be coming.

Thanks, Snip, Skye tossed over her shoulder, jingling her key chain around her first finger. You guys comin’ or what?

I followed the group, pondering the importance of having a job and the relativity of my importance to the mission. An unfamiliar, starry sky overhead pounded down, along with a full moon. Not too far away, a shoreline shivered with incoming waves, drawing in hope and sighing out resignation. What can I say, the flight and exhaustion began to get away with me.

Thompson! Burkman hollered toward me from the door, waving an arm.

Right! I jogged toward the group, leaving my own resignation in the carpark. There’d be other times for reflection, but this wasn’t it. Timing is everything.

And so it was that I sat at the head of the table, opposite Skye and her glass of red wine. As the waiters brought our food, sizzling and grilled to glistening brown perfection, I silently thanked Captain Skye for her hankerings and their production.

HERE’S THE THING. Skye wiped the corner of her mouth with the cornflower blue linen napkin. She sat her fork upside down on the empty slate ceramic plate. Unrest. Disarmament. Attacks. All these words ring a bell to you?

Heads bobbed in various states of agreement.

I know what’s going on Stateside, and I know a trifle what’s going on with Alliance. Australia wants none of it. The common man here wants to see peace, and Alliance has made a shifty name for itself.

Our Council is fixing the issues created by certain members of the board. Steele tried to negotiate.

Not enough. Not fast enough. The attack on Camp Kissinger is not the first we’ve seen. The others have been small, and all garnered toward the militia on various levels. We aren’t sure whether the unrest comes from an actual band of revolutionists or a group trying to make the news.

We know a little bit about making the news, Cheri, Steele bantered, gentle. His voice lowered. Again, that’s why we are here. We need to extract our men and get them home.

It was never so simple, Merritt.

The conversation paused.

Burkman glanced over to Steele. Do you two know each other or something?

We’ve exchanged communications.

I deal in the affairs of local yahoos and wackadoodles, Skye clarified. This wackadoodle— She pointed her thumb toward Steele, —announced your troops were coming to add to the mix, not to take them away. Terbideau either miscommunicated or misled. Either way, finding him and seeing the remains of Kissinger are our vital efforts. I don’t like watching you Alliance mates operating without accountability. That’s all you seem to do.

We deal with more accountability than you’d imagine. Steele shook his head. It’s a different level than you Army.

Gottschalk spoke up, wiping crumbs into his napkin. His hair bickered with itself in the humid evening air. Could someone have found out more troops were coming and decided to take the decision into his own hands? Or her hands?

I’m not the enemy, if that’s what you’re not saying. Skye held up a hand, eyeing Steele. Terbideau came to me about two weeks ago. He said he had evidence I needed to see, evidence leading him to believe Kissinger was more than a training facility and Alliance had alternate plans for the locale. He mentioned nukes, supercomputers, and even that sailor kid you guys created.

Sailor kid? Hawk chuckled, spurning the idea.

’Created’ is an interesting choice of word, Burkman added, his broad shoulders bristling. His eyes darkened even more than the pepper-brown they already were.

Steele held up two palms to quell the rising blood pulsing around the table. We protected our own, no matter what. What I believe you meant to say was he had evidence of foul play?

Exactly.

What did he say about the facilities here? I asked, getting the conversation back to its foundation.

We met twice. Once, he asked for the meeting. The second time, he met me on the beach, requesting to meet out of uniform, not to bring any note-taking devices, and to make sure I wasn’t followed.

So you brought along this guy, I assume? Steele thumbed toward the tiny, hunched man across from him.

Snip. Of course.

Snip-i-gen-ea, Burkman sounded out his last name. Snip-i- How do you say that? Is the ‘g’ a hard ‘g’ or the ‘j’ sound?

Anyway, Skye brought back the conversation. "Terbideau and I chatted for about ten minutes. Said he had major concerns about Kissinger. He’d been brought on board within the last year, to help oversee Operation Reboot. Investing in kids, they told him. Terbideau is a trained recruit, much like yourselves, and served Stateside until last year, in Washington D.C. offices. He gave me a short history, I suppose to lend his story credibility, and then reiterated he didn’t like what he saw. But that’s when he began yammering about nonsense. I checked headlines to see what he meant, but as I searched for the topics he mentioned, the articles I researched seemed to disappear. I found one article about a government program for children based on a study from before The Flare, but when I went back to look up details, I couldn’t find it in the database. Someone is talking, someone else is not talking, and now Kissinger looks like a dog’s ungainly dinner."

Do you recall what the article discussed? Steele asked.

Talked about warfare’s role on children and government’s impact. Interesting stuff, that’s why I came back to it. I remember a line, oh what was it? Mentioned the role that games play in a child’s psychology and makeup. If a child can make a game out of it, imagine what he can learn? The article talked about investing more money and programs into using games and play to influence children’s behavior, and having the government support that role.

What does that have to do with Kissinger? Hawk narrowed his eyes to suspicious slits.

Kissinger specialized in tactical communications, surveillance, and combat systems.

Located right next to Pine Gap, yeah?

Yeah.

Did they work with Pine Gap? Steele cleared his throat and settled back in his chair.

Pine Gap is a lot of hush-hush and I’ve not been read in. Skye waved her head side to side. Since it’s located remotely, smack in the middle of the continent, it’s pretty safe to say it’s private. However, with the attack on Kissinger, I think we can also safely say it’s not as private or shielded as they’d like.

Location-wise, where is Kissinger relative to Pine Gap? Steele crossed his arms over his solid chest.

They built up Kissinger about a mile east.

That’s it?

Yeah.

So they did work together.

Hold on to your assumptions, blokes, Skye assumed a slight accent at that point, and tilted her head toward me. They shared a water system, electricity, and a sewage system, yes, but other than that... She held up both palms to the heavens and