Bullets hammered the truck, denting its armored body. The enemy was everywhere, covering the mountainsides, firing from the trees. More came running across the beach toward the truck.
Jon glanced into his rear-view mirror. When he adjusted it, he could see the control panel in the back of the truck.
60%.
He just needed a little longer.
The truck rumbled across the beach, raising clouds of sand. The enemy was falling behind. Jon allowed himself a sigh of relief.
I can do this.
An alarm beeped. A robotic voice blared through the truck.
"Warning: Antenna misaligned. Please recalibrate antenna. Please keep vehicle stationary during calibration."
"God fucking dammit!" Jon blurted out.
He pressed the pedal to the metal, hoping to put enough distance between him and the Kennys before his second attempt.
Warning lights flashed across the dashboard. The truck was out of fuel. The engine coughed, then died. The bullets must have ruptured the fuel tank.
The truck rolled to a stop.
Jon had only managed to flee a mile. Probably less. He knew the Kennys were still chasing him. He had bought himself a few moments, not much longer. It would have to be enough.
Jon returned to the controls. He hit switches and turned dials, adjusting the antenna until the readings lined up. The calibration restarted from scratch.
0%.
1%.
2%.
Jon stood in the back of the truck. Still bleeding. So weak. The damn hatch was still stuck open, its hinges destroyed. Jon raised his rifle, gritted his teeth against the pain, and waited for the enemy to arrive.
Light washed over the truck. Not the lavender light of the azoth crystal—but searing yellow headlights.
Rumbling filled his ears. Sand blew through the shattered windshield, filling the truck.
Jon squinted and saw it.
An attack helicopter.
He ran outside the truck, his rifle shouldered.
The helicopter was black, painted with a sunburst among three stars. A Kalayaan helicopter.
Jon knew he should hide in the truck. It was the safest place now. Or he could dive into the sea, try to survive in the water.
But he had to send that message to Earth.
He would not betray Maria.
He stood his ground.
I'm not leaving until I send that message!
The helicopter extended its guns, ready to strafe him. Jon scurried around the truck, seeking any shelter he could find. Bullets slammed the truck and sand. They knocked off an armored plate, deafened Jon, and shattered a hundred seashells.
The helicopter roared, swerving around the truck, bringing Jon again into its field of view. Its machine guns blazed. Jon ran again, fleeing the bullets, racing to the other side of the truck.
He could have rolled under the truck. No good! The helicopter would pound the truck's roof, shattering the antennae and satellite dishes.
Jon just needed to draw the enemy's fire a little longer. To prevent the helicopter from shooting the antenna. He just needed to live for another few minutes. He just needed to send that message into space—and then he could die. Not before!
He waited for a respite from the enemy fire. Then he swung his rifle around the back of the truck, faced the helicopter, and opened fire.
His bullets pounded the helicopter, shattered the windshield, but did little more damage. Jon leaped back for cover. The helicopter still flew. Its machine gun roared. Bullets drove into the sand around Jon. He was bleeding. Maybe dying. He thought of Maria's smile, and he rose and fired again.
The helicopter exploded.
Rotor blades flew. One slammed into the ocean. The other drove into the sand beside Jon. The body of the helicopter pattered down in chunks of mangled metal.
What the hell? Jon thought, looking at his rifle in wonder.
Then a vehicle flew toward him.
A vehicle painted army green. It was a jungler! An Earthling jungler! A vehicle of the Human Defense Force, built to glide over the jungles of Bahay, blending in with the trees.
The Earthling army was here.
Jon swayed and leaned against the truck. He coughed. His head spun. His wounds kept bleeding. Would he live long enough to send the message? He didn't know.
"Kalayaan para sa Bahay!"
"Kalayaan para sa Bahay!"
The cries rolled across the beach. Kalayan guerrillas came storming toward Jon.
Leaning against the truck, bleeding, hands shaking, Jon somehow managed to return fire. One Kenny fell down dead. The rest kept charging. Another attack helicopter flew above, machine guns aiming at the truck.
The jungler streamed overhead, guns booming.
Two more junglers landed, and Earthling troops emerged, shouting and firing their assault rifles. Across the beach, Earthlings and Bahayans clashed and killed.
Jon stumbled back into the armored truck.
He limped toward the control panel, leaving a trail of blood.
It was at 87%.
The codechip began to glow. The system was preparing to broadcast the data to Earth. Just a few more moments, Jon knew.
90%.
Jon waited as the battle raged outside.
95%.
He reached toward the send button, waiting.
96%, and—
"Hold it right there, son."
The voice came from behind him.
Jon spun around.
Colonel Pascal entered the truck, pointing a pistol at Jon.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A Good Man
The heavyset colonel faced Jon, gun drawn.
"Sergeant Taylor, lower your weapon at once and surrender to me." Pascal's eyes were as hard as bullets. "I'm apprehending you for stealing military equipment and attempting to leak classified information. Surrender now or I will shoot you."
Jon stood between the colonel and the wormhole controls. The crystal was shining brighter than ever, filling the truck with purple light. From outside still came the sounds of battle: bullets flying, people screaming, people dying.
"Sir, listen to me." Jon stood his ground, rifle clutched in his hands. The gun was pointing at the ground. Jon dared not raise the muzzle. But nor did he drop his weapon. "I have to—"
"You have to drop your gun now, Sergeant." The colonel sneered. "Whatever you have to say, you will say at your court martial."
"I will say it now!" Jon said. "Because this is urgent, Colonel. Trust me. Trust me like your daughter trusted me! I—"
"Don't you mention my daughter!" the colonel said. "Don't you dare mention my dead daughter!"
The crystal flared with light. The truck thrummed. A computer pinged, and a voice rose from the machinery.
"Wormhole to Earth established. Please hit send to begin transmission."
Jon did not move. Neither did the colonel. They faced each other, never even breaking eye contact.
"Lizzy died to stop this war," Jon said. "Your daughter gave her life for this cause. I'm sending this message. If I must, I will die for this cause. Like Lizzy did."
The colonel snarled. "Then you'll die a traitor!"
"Yes," Jon said. "A traitor! That's who I am. I betrayed my people when I stole this truck. And I'll betray my planet when I send this message. I know it. And it eats me up inside. I think about all my fellow soldiers. Those who fought with me. Who died beside me. And I know I must betray them—but I am not the true traitor!"
The colonel snickered. "So who is?"
"The leaders who sent me here," Jon said. "General Ward was a traitor. And I have his confession ready to broadcast. President Hale is a traitor. He lies to us all. The leaders of Earth, the generals of this army—they sent me and my friends here to die. They sent my brother here to die." His eyes stung. "And I won't let any more people die, sir. I won't. When I joined the army, I made a vow. I vowed to always fight for Earth, even if I must give my life. I will broadcast
this message. Not only to save Bahay. But to save Earth!"
Jon turned toward the controls.
The colonel grabbed him, pulled him back.
"You'll have to kill me first," the older man said. He tightened his grip, his hand like a clamp. Pascal was sixty years old, but he was damn strong, his muscles bulging beneath layers of fat. "It's easy to kill an enemy hiding in the trees. I won't be that easy to kill."
"I don't want to hurt you," Jon said. "You are not my enemy. You're a good man, Colonel Pascal. When you heard about the slaughter at Santa Rosa, you halted the attack. You pulled our troops back. You know what we're doing here is wrong. Lizzy knew too, and—"
"Lizzy died!" the colonel shouted. His eyes filled with tears. "She died a traitor! She died in disgrace! I loved her. I loved her with all my heart. And she went and broke that heart. When she flunked out of military academy, I was still proud of her. When she became a sergeant, not an officer like me, I was still proud. But when she began to smear the army, to vilify us, to spit on her fellow soldiers… she broke my heart."
Jon pulled himself free from the older man's grip. He took another step toward the controls.
"She never spat on her fellow soldiers," Jon said softly. "She showed us true courage—on the battlefield and off."
The colonel pointed his pistol at Jon's face.
"Son, don't die a hero. There's only one way you're leaving this truck alive. By dropping your rifle and surrendering to me now. You have ten seconds before I shoot you."
The voice from the computer chose the moment to intone: "Please press send to transmit message to Earth. If no send request is received, wormhole will shut off in ten seconds."
Jon stood there, halfway between button and bullet.
He looked at his commanding officer. "Sir, you're a good man. And you were a good father to Lizzy. I'm sorry. I know that Lizzy loved you very much."
The colonel's eyes dampened. His finger twitched on his trigger. He blinked tears away.
Jon seized his chance. He raised his rifle and fired.
A bullet tore through Pascal's chest.
The colonel returned fire. But Jon was already swerving aside. Pascal's bullet went wide, striking the wall behind Jon.
Jon fired a second time, and Pascal collapsed.
And Jon knew that his soul was forever shattered. That this war had made him a monster. Or perhaps awoken a monster that had always slept inside him. He was not only a traitor. For Maria, for humanity, he had become a murderer.
Not wasting another second, Jon spun toward the controls. Transmission targets appeared, corresponding to different wormhole receivers on Earth. Most were military or government bases.
Jon quickly chose his transmission target: a wide press release, broadcasting his message to every media outlet on Earth.
With one second to spare, he hit send.
The codechip glowed. The video of General Ward's confession appeared on the monitor.
"Earth can't win this war," the general said in the grainy video. "We can bomb you and kill you until the cows come home. And we won't win. This is an unwinnable war. I know it. The president knows it. We've known it for years."
A progress bar appeared below the video. It was transmitting to Earth. It was transmitting fast.
Jon fell to his knees, still bleeding, overwhelmed.
"We did it, Maria," he whispered. "David. Lizzy. Bucky. Etty. George. We all did it together."
A raspy voice sounded behind him. "Jon…"
Jon turned to see the colonel on the floor. He was still alive. He was still holding his gun. But he did not shoot.
"Jon…" he whispered.
Jon knelt by the older man. There were two bullets in his chest. Blood filled his mouth.
"Sir."
The colonel grabbed his arm. "Lizzy… would be proud of you."
He slumped to the floor and died.
Jon lowered his head, tears falling. He had killed many people in this war. All Bahayans who had attacked him. For the first time, he had killed a fellow Earthling. And a good man.
This will always haunt me, he thought. My hands will always be bloodstained, my soul forever condemned. That is the sacrifice I had to make. I would have gladly sacrificed my life. But I had to sacrifice my soul.
The computer pinged. The robotic voice announced: "Transmission sent."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Backfire
Maria was walking through the marketplace when every radio and television in Mindao began broadcasting the news.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon. The city folk were returning from church, pouring across the streets, filling kiosks, eateries, bars, and shops. The city bustled with life, color, and music. One could almost forget that only a few miles away, a war was raging.
Merkado Bayan overflowed with thousands of shoppers. Most were Bahayan, city natives and refugees alike, but Earthling soldiers shopped here too, enjoying their Sunday off. Maria felt safe here. Ernesto was still after her, and she had lost the general's protection. Crowds protected her now. And Mindao, thankfully, was the most crowded human city in the galaxy. A hundred thousand people lived in every square mile here. Five times the density of New York City.
Maria normally hated crowds. But today crowds kept her safe. She shuddered, feeling a little queasy. Around her spread the galaxy's largest human shield.
She approached a kiosk. She ordered some halo halo. A kindly old man prepared the popular desert for her. First he filled a cup with crushed ice, then topped it with sweet beans, coconut julienes, purple ube yams, and finally a scoop of ice cream. Maria was no longer receiving the general's allowance, and she was down to her last few pesos. But sometimes a girl just needed to indulge.
Part of it, she supposed, was her pregnancy. She was showing quite clearly now. And getting a lot of cravings. Halo halo, a blend of motley ingredients, truly hit the spot.
She had taken her first bite when the kiosk's television began broadcasting the news.
Then, one by one, the broadcast began playing across the marketplace. From little televisions hanging over grocers' carts. From the radio on the curbside, where children sat playing with apricot seeds. From a thousand kiosks and curiosity shops. Everywhere—the same broadcast.
Of General Ward.
His voice echoed from a thousand speakers.
"I ordered millions of Bahayan women and children killed. Do you know why? Because slits are nothing but vermin and whores, and it's my job to kill them and fuck them."
Now Maria spoke in the recording. She remembered herself facing him that day aboard Mother's Womb. "You can't win this war."
"You're right," the general said. "Earth can't win this war. We can bomb you and kill you until the cows come home. And we won't win. This is an unwinnable war. I know it. The president knows it. We've known it for years."
The transmission ended.
A broadcaster appeared on the television, face severe.
"This recording from General Ward, taken in secret aboard a space station orbiting Bahay, has been spreading across Earth media. Protests are filling the streets of Earth. President Hale has addressed the video, which he has called fabricated…"
Maria tuned it out. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
"You did it, Jon," she whispered.
A rumble passed through the marketplace. People were muttering under their breath. Looking at one another with dark eyes. Balling their fists.
This was South Bahay, under the control of President Santiago. The South Bahayans, aside from a few guerrillas in the jungle, were allies of Earth. Yet now, across the marketplace, South Bahayans were grumbling. Their eyes narrowed with hatred. A few cried out in rage, and one man shook his fist.
The words echoed across the marketplace.
"I ordered millions of Bahayan women and children killed…"
"Slits are nothing but vermin and whores…"
A few dozen Earthling soldiers were moving through the marketplace, carrying
cases of beer and bags of fruit. Now they froze, eyes darting, cheeks flushing. One sergeant gripped his rifle.
People in the crowd began booing and jeering. One man tossed a candy wrapper at a group of Earthlings. Another person spat at them. Soon the crowd was roaring with rage, pelting the Earthlings with apple cores, paper cups, fish bones, and whatever other trash they could find.
"Earthlings go home!" one man cried.
The chant spread. "Earthlings go home! Earthlings go home!"
Maria gasped. This shouldn't be happening.
"Stop this!" she said. "We're from South Bahay, we're allies of Earth!"
But people only cursed her.
She was being hypocritical, perhaps. She had spent the past year fighting against Earth. But most of that time was spent trying to end the war. Now fresh violence was brewing.
One Bahayan tossed a stone at an Earthling. It hit the corporal's shoulder. Another Bahayan began shoving an Earthling private, shouting at him. "Go home, go home!"
More voices rose.
"Go home, killers!"
"Rapists!"
"Remember Santa Rosa!"
"Freedom for Bahay!"
The Earthlings huddled closer together. One private was shaking and cursing.
They're afraid, Maria thought. And fearful Earthlings are dangerous Earthlings.
More stones flew. One hit an Earthling in the head, bloodying him. More stones pelted other Earthlings, hitting their torsos. They were not wearing their armor or helmets—not on their day off. An Earthling took a hit to the face, blood sprayed, and he cried out.
Maria stared in horror.
"Everyone, sto—"
And then one Earthling opened fire.
Perhaps they were not wearing armor, and they were on their day off, but they still had guns.
And now an Earthling's bullets drove into the crowd.
Bahayans screamed. A woman fell, clutching her baby, her head blown open. An old man collapsed, bullets riddling his chest. A little girl screamed, her arm torn off.
The crowd erupted in fury and panic.
Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3) Page 29
