BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

He strapped on his gas mask and entered the mouth of the cave. Forgetting his goggles, his eyes began to sting. “Trooper!” he called to a passing man, pointing at his head. “Give me those.” He snatched the man’s goggles and put them on, his eyes already weeping.

All around him, Special Forces were streaming in and out of the cave. Many of those leaving were without protection, bar a sleeve to their eyes and a hand over their mouth. They stumbled out into the daylight, choking and near-blind.

Wulfwin shoved past them, cursing at the obstruction. “Where’s the Duty Superior?” he called. “Who the fuck’s in charge?”

After several minutes, two Unit Superiors appeared, their bloodshot eyes squinting behind the inadequate protective gear. “Sir!” they said in unison.

“Tell me you’ve flushed the fucking rats.”

“Sir?” said one.

“The Music Makers. Where are they?”

“We’ve not found them yet, sir. It’s vast. Caves everywhere.”

“I don’t give a shit. It’s taking too long.”

“Sir, we’re working as fast as we can. We must be in the final section now. It’s deep. Takes over an hour to climb down there. It’s been a mission to get the gas canisters down safely.”

“Safely? We’re trying to kill the fuckers.”

“Risk of explosion, sir. It’ll cause collapse. The men—”

Wulfwin waved a hand. “Whatever. This last section. You think they’re in there?”

“I don’t know, sir. Unlikely. Oxygen levels are low. We’re not seeing signs of habitation, like in other areas. But if they’re down there somewhere, then this is the last place they can be.”

“If they’re down there? You’d better hope to fucking crow they are, ’cos it was your units that were guarding the exits when we stormed the place. If they’re not there, it’s because you let them escape.” He prodded them both in the chest. One stumbled backwards with the force. “Go back and find those bastards. I want them carried outside in the next hour, breathing their fucking last.”

–

Back in the Comms Control Centre, eyes still stinging, Wulfwin screamed at Surveillance. “Why the fuck haven’t you got me an answer?”

“Sir,” stuttered the Unit Superior, “there’s a lot of material to trawl through. We had the mountain well covered. There were fourteen Watchers in the Heights that night. There’s over a hundred hours of footage.”

“How many people have you got on the case?”

“Well… The whole unit, sir.”

“Twelve men? You’re taking the piss, right?”

“Sir, I—”

“Shut it. There’s your answer, right there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As many men as you’ve got machines. I want that footage scanned and a report in my ear in the next two hours. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir.”

“It is looking increasingly likely that the Music Makers escaped. If you did your job properly, one of those cameras will give us a direction. And if they don’t? Well. Time for an unscheduled performance review. And I don’t do constructive criticism. So, you’d best hope you find something.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s the other waste of space that runs this division? The one looking for our missing sleeper.”

“Unit Superior Tumen, sir?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“Trooper Sixty.”

“That’s him. Tell him to report to me here. Immediately. Then start searching for that needle. Clock’s ticking.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And?” He glared at the man, who faltered and froze. “Go! Go now, you piece of shit.”

The Unit Superior scurried away, leaving Wulfwin to pace the room. Radio operators fumbled with dials and switches, fingers trembling. Several of the messages that came in were for him. He had left his radio turned off, already tired of the relentless attention that came with being in charge.

A different Unit Superior came trotting up to Wulfwin, breathless. “Trooper Sixty, sir,” he said, raising his hand in unsteady salute.

“Tell me it’s because you’ve been saving up the good news.”

“Sir?” His arm fell, limp.

“The reason you’ve yet to report on the whereabouts of our AWOL sleeper.”

“Sir, we are doing all we can to trace him.”

“If that were the case, Trooper Sixty, my missing sleeper would be here, at my feet, kissing my arse, apologising for getting lost. So, cut the crap.”

“Sir, all WatcherCams are programmed to detect his ID. Static cameras, likewise. Our eyes on the ground have been on the lookout since he first went off radar.”

“Remind me. That was how long ago?”

“Seven days, sir.”

“Seven days… A week off radar and you’ve got the nerve to tell me you’re doing all you can? Were you born a bullshitter, or did you learn it from your cock-sucking mother?”

The man flushed, eyes bulging. “I… I won’t have—”

“You won’t what?” roared Wulfwin, striking him hard across the face. The man stumbled backwards and fell, his left hand cupping a broken nose. Wulfwin kicked him in the abdomen, forcing him to crunch up in pain and foetal defence. “Tell me. Go on.” He stamped down hard on the side of his ribs. “Exactly what the fuck won’t you do?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re off the detail, Trooper Sixty. And you’re stripped of Superior rank. When you’ve pulled your blubbing arse together, report to Sanitation. You like talking crap so much, you can start cleaning it up.”

A Special Forces Unit Superior appeared at the door and froze, regretting his moment to arrive.

“What?” barked Wulfwin. He stepped over the huddled body of the demoted trooper. “What now?”

“Sir, I’ve just come from the Exchange. I tried to radio you—”

“You and every other damned Superior. So? You’ve found me. Spit it out.”

“Sir, the crowd is growing. I estimate three hundred. Increasing by the hour.”

“Are they blocking the Exchange?”

“No, sir. They’ve left a path for citizens to enter. Although…”

“What?”

“Well, hardly anyone is.”

“For fuck’s sake. We need the intel. There’s still chance someone could’ve seen the Makers leave. Are you sure they’re not barring the way? Intimidating people as they approach?”

“I’m certain, sir.”

“So, what? They’re just hanging around, obsessing about the bloody holes? Sipping tea and losing a day’s pay? They’re probably itching Meezels, too high to care.”

“What would you like me to do, sir?”

“Get your men to start provoking. Stir some trouble. All we need’s a little reaction. Meanwhile, liaise with