Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [38]
Butler nodded. If possible.
LEPretrieval One were the best and the brightest. It was every little fairy’s dream that one day he would grow up to don the stealth-black jumpsuit of the Retrieval commandos. These were the elite. Trouble was their middle name. In the case of Captain Kelp, Trouble was actually his first name. He’d insisted on it at his manhood ceremony, having just been accepted into the Academy.
Trouble led his team down the sweeping avenue. As usual, he took the point position himself, determined to be the first into the fray if, as he fervently hoped, a fray developed.
“Check in,” he whispered into the mike that wound snakelike from his helmet.
“Negative on one.”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“A big negatori, Trouble.”
Captain Kelp winced.
“We’re in the field, Corporal. Follow procedure.”
“But Mommy said!”
“I don’t care what Mommy said, Corporal! Rank is rank! You will refer to me as Captain Kelp.”
“Yessir, Captain,” sulked the corporal. “But don’t ask me to iron your tunic anymore.”
Trouble zeroed in on his brother’s channel, shutting out the rest of the squad.
“Shut up about Mommy, will you? And the ironing. You’re only on this mission because I requested you! Now start acting like a professional or get back to the perimeter!”
“Okay, Trubs.”
“Trouble!” shouted Captain Kelp. “It’s Trouble. Not Trubs, or Trub. Trouble! Okay?”
“Okay. Trouble. Mommy’s right. You’re only a baby.”
Swearing very unprofessionally, Captain Kelp switched his headset back to the open channel. He was just in time to hear an unusual sound.
“Arrkk.”
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Dunno.”
“Nothing, Captain.”
But Trouble had done a Sound Recognition in-service for his captain’s exam, and he was pretty sure the “Arrkk” had been caused by someone getting a chop across the windpipe. More than likely his brother had walked into a shrub.
“Grub? Are you all right?”
“That’s Corporal Grub to you.”
Kelp viciously kicked a daisy.
“Check in. Sound off in sequence.”
“One, Okay.”
“Two, fine.”
“Three, bored but alive.”
“Five, approaching west wing.”
Kelp froze.“Wait. Four? You there, Four? What’s your situation?”
“.................” Nothing except static.
“Right. Four is down. Possibly an equipment malfunction. Still, we can’t afford to take any chances. Regroup by the main door.”
Retrieval One crept together, making slightly less noise than a silk spider. Kelp did a quick head count. Eleven. One short of a full complement. Four was probably wandering around the rose bushes, wondering why nobody was talking to him.
Then Trouble noticed two things—one, a pair of black boots was sticking out of a shrub beside the door, and two, there was a massive human standing in the doorway. The figure was cradling a very nasty-looking gun in the crook of his arm.
“Go silent,” whispered Kelp, and immediately eleven full-face visors slid down to seal in the sounds of his squad’s breathing and communications.
“Now, nobody panic. I think I can trace the sequence of events here. Four is skulking around outside the door. The Mud Man opens it. Four gets a whack on the noggin and lands in the bushes. No problem. Our cover is intact. Repeat intact. So no itchy fingers, please. Grub . . . Sorry, Corporal Kelp, check Four’s vitals. The rest of you make a hole and keep it quiet.”
The squad stepped back carefully, until they were standing on the manicured grassy verge. The figure before them was indeed impressive, without doubt the biggest human any of them had ever seen.
“D’Arvit,” breathed Two.
“Maintain radio silence, except in emergencies,” ordered Kelp. “Swearing is hardly an emergency.” Secretly, however, he concurred with the sentiment. This was one time he was glad to be shielded. That man looked as if he could squash half a dozen fairies in one massive fist.
Grub returned to his slot. “Four is stable. Concussed, I’d guess. But otherwise okay. His shield’s off, though, so I stuffed him in the bushes.”
“Well done, Corporal. Good thinking.”
The last thing they needed was for Four’s boots to be spotted.
The man moved, lumbering casually along