The Nightmare Unleashed

by J. J. Carlson

  He saw the flares first, fanning away from the AN-12 like a thousand shooting stars. “Come on,” he moaned. “Get out of here.”

  The aircraft banked sharply, its wings bending under the effort. A streak of flames and smoke flashed upward from the ground, closing in on the cargo plane like a falcon about to strike a dove. The missile struck the second engine, which erupted into a ball of flame. The high-explosives triggered a secondary explosion in the fuel tank, and Aleksandr’s plane disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

  “Tato!” Yuri shrieked. Forgetting where he was, he tried to run in mid-air, his arms outstretched. “Tato, no!”

  One by one, the rest of the team maneuvered their canopies in beside him. They watched in reverent silence as aluminum, steel, and glass rained down in the distance. The rumble of explosions subsided, and soon, the only sound was the wind, laced with Yuri’s tortured screams.

  28

  The Palace, Central Siberia

  Emily Roberts banged a fist on the door to Dmitri’s office. She paused, then banged again. The door swung open, revealing Dmitri’s irritated face. When he saw who it was, his features softened.

  “Emily? What’s wrong?”

  “I need you in the Operations Center. Take the helm and oversee the defense of the Palace.”

  Dmitri placed a hand over his heart. “I would be honored. But where will you be?”

  Emily backpedaled, starting up the stairs to the Throne Room. “I’ll be with Borya. He’s…vulnerable right now.”

  Concern flashed across Dmitri’s face. “Take all the time you need. I will handle things downstairs.”

  Emily thanked him and jogged up the stone steps. She entered the Throne Room and cast a worried glance at the plexiglass box in the corner. Eugene was still secured to the chair and sound asleep.

  Emily padded up the red carpet, then stood at Borya’s side. “My love,” she said, “can you hear me?”

  Borya’s head twitched from side to side, and his eyes rolled around in his head. “I…can hear you.”

  Emily breathed a sigh of relief and leaned in closer. She spoke in his native tongue, to ease the burden on his mind. “There are intruders in the plains beyond our defenses. I think that we should delay the neural replication until we have eliminated the threat.

  Borya shook his head with jerky movements. “They pose…no risk. They will…fail.”

  Emily stroked the wrinkled skin on the back of his hand. “Are you sure? What if Jarrod Hawkins is among them?”

  “He is not. The intruders are from…Baltimore.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “From Hillcrest? But how did they find out where we are?”

  “Please…I cannot explain now. I must concentrate.”

  “Of course, my love.” Emily took a step back. She glanced at the globe, which swirled with the dark liquid and gave off flashes of light, like the turbid core of a thunderstorm. “I fear for you, that’s all. How long will it take you to finish reprogramming the machines?”

  “Four hours…eleven minutes, forty-one seconds.”

  “Then I will leave you in peace,” Emily said. “Good luck, my love.” She stepped off the platform and strode over to the globe, then stared into it. A sense of awe washed over her as she pondered the intricacies held within. The dark liquid was composed of trillions of microscopic robots, each one designed for a specific purpose, but all of them working toward a common goal. At this very moment, they were receiving the most complex set of instructions ever written—the blueprints for Borya’s brain. Once the machines were ready, she would inject the fluid into Eugene’s cranium. The robots would swarm his neurons, tearing them apart and rebuilding them. Eugene Carver would cease to be, and Borya Tabanov would be reborn.

  A chill of anticipation ran down Emily’s spine. Ever since she had first met Eugene, she had wanted him. In retrospect, she realized the longing was purely physical. It had been years since she last experienced sexual intimacy with Borya, due to the paralysis she had inflicted with her invasive brain surgeries. Soon, however, she would not need to compromise. She would be able to indulge herself with the man she had loved and admired since childhood.

  Turning on her heel, Emily walked toward the exit. There would be time to fantasize about her future after she squashed the cockroaches beyond the gates. She trotted down the stone steps, past Dmitri’s office, around a curved hallway, and into the Operations Center. As she descended the stairs in the bowl-shaped room, Dmitri pushed away from the helm. He limped down the trio of stairs that led to the raised lectern and took her hand to help her up.

  “Have we pinpointed their location?” she asked.

  Dmitri shook his head. “Negative. They landed in the tall grass outside of mortar range and have remained hidden. The aircraft that dropped them has been destroyed, and our infrared cameras have detected no survivors in the wreckage.”

  Emily twisted a dial on the lectern, and a holographic image depicting the Palace defenses zoomed in. “Which direction do you think they will approach?”

  Dmitri thought for a moment. “The grass provides excellent concealment, but only until the outer edge of the mine field. If I was leading the team, I would approach from the east, then cross the minefield and hide in the trees. If they are aware of the motion detectors, they might also use the forest to mask their positions.”

  “Do you think they will make it that far?”

  Dmitri shook his head. “The minefield is open ground. They will have to expose themselves before crossing. As soon as they do, our grenade launchers will squash them. Besides, our tower-cameras will find them before then, and we will have an opportunity to crush them with mortars.”

  Emily nodded, then stepped away from the lectern. “You are more familiar with this than I am. I’ll leave you in charge, Dmitri. Contact me when you find the intruders.”

  Dmitri held out a hand to help Emily down, then struggled up the steps and manned the lectern. Emily circled the room and stopped next to a man reclining in a barber-style chair.

  “Ross,” she said in a low voice. “I want you to position your bio-automaton inside the Throne Room. Do not use it to assist with Palace defense. If the intruders somehow make it through the forest, we will send the secondary automaton outside. Do you understand?”

  Ross didn’t nod his head or meet her gaze—he was paralyzed by the system that connected his mind to the cyborg’s body, though his voice and hearing remained intact. “Yes, Empress. It will be my honor to protect the Emperor.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Emily said. She tapped the spot on his thigh where she had once stabbed him, knowing he was unaware of the gesture. Then she climbed the stairs and pushed through the Operation Center doors, leaving the mission in Dmitri’s capable hands. The intruders were nothing, just a temporary annoyance, and she had more important things to attend to.

  29

  15 Miles South of the Palace, Central Siberia

  Crawling on her elbows, Janson dragged herself through the thick canes of prairie grass. The entire team would need to regroup before they could move out, but Janson’s focus was on finding Yuri. “Sound off with your callsign,” she said, just below a shout.

  Ford responded with, “Alpha-Two.” For a moment, no one spoke, then Eli said, “Charlie,” and Trent followed with, “Delta.” Kacen and Nicole said, “Echo,” and “Foxtrot,” respectively, and the grassland fell into relative quiet.

  “Yuri, sound off,” Janson called out.

  Again, silence.

  “Does anyone have eyes on Bravo?” Janson asked.

  “I think he’s over here.” It was Ford’s voice.

  Janson crawled toward her long-time sparring partner and teammate. She paused beside him, and he pointed to the north. Following his direction, she continued high-crawling through the grass. After a few minutes of searching, she found Yuri sitting upright with his knees tucked into his chest. His hollow eyes stared straight forward, as if peering into a different dimension.
>
  “Yuri,” Janson said, “are you with me?”

  Yuri blinked and said nothing.

  Janson elbowed her way closer, then sat with her back against his. “Your father seemed like a good man. He was brave, and we all owe him our lives.” She felt the muscles in Yuri’s back shift as he gave a slow nod.

  “But I need your head in the game,” Janson continued. “You’re our only medic, and the odds are pretty good we’re going to suffer casualties.” She waited several moments for a response and received none. She took a deep breath. “We knew the risks when we signed up for this mission, but none of us planned on dying. Aleksandr wasn’t expecting to die. But losing him doesn’t mean you get to sit on your ass while the rest of us put our necks on the chopping block. I don’t care how you do it, but you need to man the hell up. Tell yourself you’re getting revenge. Tell yourself your friends need you. I don’t care if you lie to yourself and pretend your father is safe and sound in Ukraine, but we are moving, now.”

  Yuri shifted to look over his shoulder, his face hot with anger. “You would make the worst grief counselor, you know that?”

  “Are you with me?” Janson asked, gripping his shoulder.

  Yuri turned onto his stomach and supported himself with his elbows. “Lead the way, Alpha.”

  Janson’s tone softened. “Thank you, Yuri. For everything.” She turned to the right and said, “We landed farther south than we had planned to. We’ll need to head northeast, then cut west toward the forest. We need to cover twenty miles in the next four hours to have any hope of clearing the objective during daylight.” She eyed him for a moment. “How’s your cardio?”

  “I think I can make it.”

  Janson nodded. “If you fall behind, get on the radio, and we’ll distribute some of your gear amongst the others. If someone else is struggling, don’t wait until they pass out to lend a hand.”

  “Got it.”

  Janson got to one knee. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled, “Form up on me.”

  The grass rustled all around her as the team obeyed her command. One by one, the hardened operatives arrived and waited for her instructions. When everyone was present, she said, “We’re going to move fifteen miles northeast, then head west once we’re perpendicular to the forest. Total distance is twenty miles, and we need to move fast so we can hit the target before the sun gets too low. There’s no need to bunch up out here; keep at least a ten-meter spacing between you and the next man. Any questions?”

  “Do you want to deploy the drones?” Eli asked.

  Janson shook her head. “We’re too far out. We need to save the batteries for the assault. When we get to the minefield, we’ll send a few out for reconnaissance.”

  Eli nodded and gripped his weapons with both hands to signify he was ready to move.

  “Get your spacing,” Janson said, “and wait for my signal. We roll in two minutes.”

  Without hesitation, the team dispersed. Janson listened, waiting for the sound of flattening grass to cease. When she couldn’t hear any more movement, she pulled the metamaterial hood over her head and tucked it beneath her chin. Then she stood and looked around. The grassy plain extended in every direction like an ocean, interrupted only by the stunted coniferous forest in the distance.

  Sucking air into her chest, she bellowed, “Move out!”

  The team materialized like prairie ghosts and began to run, their weapons held at the low-ready. Janson waited for them to pass, then trotted after them, easily keeping up in spite of her heavy load. She left surveillance to the team members in front and constantly monitored her team. After the first mile, the operatives’ pace increased, their hearts and lungs settling into steady rhythms.

  Another mile passed, then another. The heavily-laden men and women kept a strict seven-minute-mile pace for nearly an hour, then Janson gave the command to stop over the radio.

  The operatives halted and crouched in the tall grass, breathing deeply and sipping water. Janson crept toward Ford and knelt beside him. His face was pink with exertion, or pain, or a combination of the two.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” Ford grunted.

  Janson shook her head. “A few days ago, you would have been able to handle this pace without breaking a sweat. Why don’t you give me some of your gear?”

  Ford clenched his teeth. “I can handle it.”

  “Listen, I’d rather carry a few pounds of your equipment than drag your sorry ass all the way to the objective.”

  After chewing on his tongue for ten seconds, Ford shrugged off his pack and withdrew a stack of C-4. Janson tucked the explosives into her already bulging pack.

  “Five minutes,” she said, “then we move on.”

  Ford nodded, biting the hose for his water bladder and gripping his .50 caliber sniper rifle with both hands.

  Janson returned to her original position, ate a high-calorie meal bar, and washed it down with a quart of water. She glanced at her wristwatch, and her mind began to wander. The mission had been compromised, but she didn’t know when or where. It was possible that Katharos had upgraded the Palace defenses to include long-range air defense. Or, more likely, Audrey Stokes had lied. And if she had deceived them about the surface-to-air missiles, the team might have more unpleasant surprises waiting for them.

  Janson shook off her concerns and tightened the straps on her pack. One step at a time, she told herself. They still had many miles left to travel, and dozens of things could go wrong in the meantime. Someone could collapse from heat exhaustion, or sprain an ankle, or step on a landmine…

  To keep from dwelling on unforeseen circumstances, Janson rose to her feet and said, “Move out.”

  As before, the team rose from their hiding places and set out at a jog. The formation fluctuated as the operatives picked up speed, then solidified as they fell in sync with each other.

  With every step, Janson’s heavy rucksack bit into her shoulders and hips, but she ignored the pain. She forced unnecessary thoughts from her mind and alternated between scanning the horizon and monitoring her team. As the miles wore on, Ford slowly moved to the front of the formation. Janson wasn’t sure if it was because he was less encumbered than before, or if he was trying to prove that he wasn’t a liability. She hoped it was the former, because in combat, bravado could get people killed.

  Another ninety minutes passed, and the formation began to loosen. Janson glanced repeatedly to the left, checking the team’s alignment with the forest. They were close enough to make the turn, perhaps five miles east of the Palace. Rather than use the radio, she sprinted forward until she caught up with Ford, then held up a closed fist. The team slowed to a trot, then crouched in the grass, which had steadily decreased in height. Here, the team had to lay prone in order to remain fully concealed.

  Ford practically collapsed in the grass, holding his ribs with one hand.

  Janson settled in beside him. “I knew you were showing off. You want to get someone killed?”

  “It’s nothing,” Ford said. “Just sore, that’s all.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” She crawled through the grass to the point where she had seen Yuri drop under cover, then grunted, “Bravo, sound off.”

  “Over here,” Yuri said.

  Janson closed the gap and put a hand on Yuri’s pack. “You have any cortisone in here?”

  “Bottom pocket on the left, next to the antibiotics. Why?”

  Janson unzipped the pouch and retrieved the anti-inflammatory medication. “It’s Ford, he’s still pretty beat up from his surgery.”

  “You want pain meds?”

  Janson shook her head. “He wouldn’t take them.” She stowed the cortisone in her pocket and set out the way she came.

  When she was halfway back to Ford, Eli emerged from the grass and waved her over.

  “What is it?” she asked, nodding for him to follow.

  “I think we should put a dro
ne in the air,” Eli said. “Maybe two.”

  Janson nodded. “You think we’re working with bad intel?”

  Eli nodded. “Definitely, although I don’t know whose fault it was. I’d just rather be safe than sorry.”

  “Do it,” Janson said, “and tell me what you find.”

  “Will do.”

  Eli hung back, dropping his pack to retrieve a drone while Janson followed her path to Ford. She retrieved the plastic case from her pocket and opened it, revealing a row of steel syringes.

  “I’m not taking pain-killers,” Ford grumbled.

  “You’ll do whatever I say.” Janson uncapped a vial and squeezed the air out. “And it’s not painkillers, it’s cortisone. Drop your kit and take off your armor.

  Ford rolled onto his side, loosened the straps on his pack, and eased out. He pulled the metamaterial hood back and unhooked the clasps at the chest, then slid his arms out of the sleeves. He rolled the suit down to his waist, revealing purple bruises on his left side.

  “Where does it hurt?” Janson asked.

  “Just give me that thing,” Ford said, reaching for the syringe. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Janson swatted his hand away. “Try that again, and I’ll knock your ass out and leave you here. Where does it hurt?”

  Ford hesitated, then pointed at several points on his abdomen. Janson followed behind with the needle, injecting generous amounts of cortisone. When she had finished, she stowed the syringe and placed the container in Ford’s pack.

  “If you need it,” she said.

  “I won’t.”

  Janson glared at him and was about to remind him who was in charge when Eli crawled up behind her and said, “I think you need to take a look at this.” He handed her a computer tablet, and she held her arm above the screen to reduce the glare.

  The feed wasn’t real-time—the team couldn’t risk someone in the Palace tracing a signal back to their position. Instead, the miniaturized tilt-rotor helicopter had traveled on its own, conducted a two-minute reconnaissance with its high-definition cameras, then returned.