Firestorm

by William Stacey

  "Switch targets, switch targets!" Tec yelled. The cement mixer was closing on the gates, less than two hundred meters away.

  The gunner fired, but the smoke from the flatbed must have obscured his aim because his tracers went over the vehicle.

  "Take him, take him, take him," Tec screamed as the truck bomb reached the road leading to the gates and picked up speed.

  The gunner fired the last of his bullets, sending them into the mixer's cab. But it was too late. "Down!" Tec screamed.

  The explosion sent everyone atop the southern wall reeling. Tec rose first, stumbling with disorientation, his ears ringing. Acrid smoke choked him. Fires burned everywhere, even atop the wall. He staggered to the city side of the wall. The gates were gone, and the wreckage of the mixer lay strewn and burning for more than fifty meters inside the city.

  The wall was breached.

  A cheer rose from the Aztalans.

  An hour after takeoff, the Blackhawk began to shake. Angie's stomach lurched into her throat, and she and Erin met each other’s eyes. Angie clutched the egg against her, now wishing she had left it behind. The aircraft dropped suddenly, losing at least a hundred feet in seconds before leveling out again. The headset chirped: "Hang on, kids. We've got some bad vibration in the main rotor."

  "I tightened the bolts, I swear to god," Jay yelled.

  With one hand, Angie gripped her seat belt. The other held the egg. She smelled smoke—not a lot, but any within an aircraft was too much—then she smelled burnt plastic and oil. The helicopter swerved to the left and then the right. A two-toned siren screamed from the cockpit, reminding Angie of her previous crashes, and her heart pounded painfully.

  "God damn it," she blurted out to no one in particular. "How many fucking helicopter crashes can one person be in?"

  The helicopter swung wildly again, and Jay and Erin released their seat belts and rose, opening the side doors for a speedy escape. Trees flashed past. Then the aircraft ceased its wild descent, the nose flared up, and Casey set it down in a clearing surrounded by trees.

  "Everybody out!" Rowan ordered as he surged out of the cockpit.

  They scrambled out, with Erin pulling on Angie’s arm, dragging her to safety. Angie still clutched the egg, holding it as firmly as she dared while praying it didn't crack. The rotors whipped about, beating them with the prop wash.

  They waited several hundred meters away, watching as Casey, alone on the Blackhawk now, cycled down the engine. The blades slowed; the whine of the turbines died down.

  "Well fuck," Jay said softly.

  An hour later, Erin and Casey, both filthy with engine oil, addressed the others. Casey wiped his big hands on a yard of cloth Erin had handed him.

  "Hit us," Rowan ordered.

  "Well," the big man said wearily. "It wasn't Jay, so color me surprised. It was corrosion in a fuel line in the main transmission system, started spilling fuel, the fuel burned, the engine got mad. I got no idea how long those birds have been sitting in storage, but this sort of shit was inevitable. They need an overhaul by a real mechanic."

  Rowan ran his fingers back through his graying hair. "Can you put her back in the air? We're so close now."

  Casey scowled. "Maybe. But it's gonna take some time."

  "How much time?" Angie asked, her helplessness crushing.

  "Don't know, Angie-baby. Just don't know." Casey sounded more depressed than weary.

  "Do your best," said Rowan. "All we can do. Everybody else, eat, get some rest."

  Angie stare north in frustration. It might have been her imagination, but the sky looked lighter.

  As if the city burned.

  Chapter 42

  An hour before sunrise, Rayan Zar Davi looked through binoculars as the first of the Aztalan brigades readied to assault the twisted, still-smoking wreckage that had been Sanwa City's gates.

  It would have been better to storm the gates immediately, while her brigades still had the momentum, but the fire had burned hotter and longer than anyone had expected—some idiot had used too much explosive—and the defenders had kept up a light but effective stream of gunfire. Someone, her old foe Teccizcoatl, no doubt, had a firm grip on the defenders and had instilled impressive fire control.

  It didn’t matter. She had more than enough soldiers to throw against the breach, and more than enough ammo. The first brigade to assault the breech would likely get savaged, maybe even the second, but the third would get through—or however many it took. And when the angry Aztalan soldiers finally got into the city, it would turn very ugly.

  She was, among other things, a student of history, and understood all too well that once a stubbornly defending city finally fell, a bloodlust would consume the victors. That would be the most dangerous moment, and she would need to be present. It wouldn't do for some overzealous soldier to shoot Wyn Renna. No, Rayan needed the elf alive. If only long enough to harvest her blood. This time, they’d sacrifice her immediately, cutting out her heart and collecting her blood. There’d be no waiting for the stars to align; that had been a mistake.

  The thought of the death that was coming for this city and its people saddened her. Despite what Teccizcoatl thought, she wasn't evil, didn't enjoy all the destruction, but she had long ago thrown her lot in with the dragons, and it was necessary to tear down this new Awakened world in order to create a better one, a world in which Memnog would rule with Itzpapalotl.

  And Rayan would stand at their side, a new hero for a new world, perhaps even an immortal one ... her special destiny. The thought that she might yet cheat death filled her with wonder.

  She gripped one of the silk scarves around her neck, smiling as she imagined what this new world might be like hundreds of years from now. They’d erect statues of her. "Der Sieger wird immer der Richter und der Besiegte stets der Angeklagte sein," she whispered to herself in flawless German, quoting Hermann Göring—The victor will always be the judge, and the vanquished the accused.

  Rayan sighed, letting go of her scarf and trailing her fingers over the polished hilt of her pulwar on her hip. But first must come the blood, the screams, the messiness of a new beginning.

  Without turning to look at the Aztalan major who stood behind her, waiting patiently, she said, "Attack the gates."

  The fool saluted—actually saluted—and spun away to carry out her orders.

  As the fires burned down, Tec brought a dozen fighters, all he could spare from the wall to defend the breach. He placed them around the smoldering wreckage, making sure each man or woman had at least some bullets. He gave his own rifle away, having only half a magazine left in it anyhow, and drew his machete.

  When he heard whistles announcing the beginning of the enemy's assault, he sighed wearily. Sorry, Angie. I’m so sorry.

  The soldiers on the wall fired first, taking their time with each shot. But before, where there had been a cascade of gunshots, now only solitary shots rang out in the predawn gloom. Through the smoke, he saw the first of the enemy soldiers running for the breach, their faces twisted into masks of hatred. He could shift, he supposed, but it wouldn’t change anything, and if he was going to die here, he’d rather die as a man.

  Some of the enemy fell to gunfire but only a handful among hundreds. He wished he might have seen the sun rise one last time, but some things just weren’t meant to be. The soldiers with him opened fire. The enemy surged forward, howling. He tensed, preparing to take as many as he could with him.

  And then at the pounding of hooves behind him, he spun to see the first of at least a hundred men and women on horseback come around a barrier at the end of the street. The riders picked up speed, galloping for the broken gates and the oncoming enemy.

  "Get out of the way!" Tec yelled and pulled a young woman with him to safety just before the first rider sped past, a cavalry saber flashing.

  Tavi! It was Tavi.

  Behind her followed a combined force of Norteno Rangers and Sanwa City Horse Cops. The young Brujas Fantasmas mage had somehow muster
ed an honest-to-god cavalry charge.

  Tavi screamed as she broke into a gallop, charging at the stunned Aztalan soldiers, who were staring wide-eyed at the horses charging them. A moment later, the first of the enemy turned to flee. The panic spread, and more soldiers broke. Tavi's saber flashed as it fell among them, and men screamed.

  The last of the riders whipped past Tec, an overweight Horse Cop with mutton chops. The Horse Cop was firing a handgun as he rode, whooping like a cowboy from the Old West.

  Chapter 43

  Tavi chopped down with her hexed saber, slicing through the fingers of an Aztalan soldier who had been trying to pull her from her saddle. As her blade slashed into his face, he fell away. More soldiers came at her from both sides; one tried bayoneting her, but her shade threw up a shield to protect her. Her mare reared up to kick with her front hooves at another soldier, smashing in his forehead with a resounding "crack."

  Horse Cops and Rangers fought all around her. Most fired pistols into the enemy, but others fought with whatever they had been able to grab, fire axes, rifle butts ... sticks. But the initial panic that had shaken the Aztalan soldiers had already passed, and while her cavalry charge had driven away the first enemy brigade, a second attacked as the enemy realized how few riders there actually were. Aztalan soldiers screamed in hatred at the riders as they pulled them from their mounts, beating them to bloody pulps. Gunfire cut down horses and riders. Their charge was over, its energy spent. Her surviving force needed to break contact and get back to the city.

  When she managed a desperate look about her, she knew that wasn't going to happen.

  They were already cut off.

  She accepted her fate with stoicism. Better to die fighting than to be captured and stretched naked across an altar. She shoved the point of her saber through the face of a man who looked younger than she was. The impact of the strike felt immensely satisfying. Her mare danced forward, and she used the momentum to yank her sword free of the young man's head.

  Then her horse went down, throwing her forward. Her shade shielded her impact, but she still hit the ground with enough force to stagger her. She dropped her sword and slammed her head against a rock, which her shade couldn't prevent. Pain roared in her skull as she rose on hands and knees. She shook her head and stared in confusion at her saber in front of her. She couldn’t process facts properly, and her vision blurred. Gunshots hit a shield in front of her face, discharging a rain of sparks. Her shade was still trying to protect her.

  For now.

  The Aztalan soldiers had her surrounded, but for some reason they held back. Why? Had they all attacked her at once, they’d have overwhelmed her shade. When a heavyset bearded man with a basket-hilt broadsword stepped through the enemy, grinning at Tavi, she understood: the enemy had brought a mage. The man made a series of test cuts in the air and then came on.

  Tavi grasped at her saber and rose on shaky legs. Blood dripped down her skull and into her eyes. She wiped it away with her free hand, doing her best to take up a dueling stance.

  The man brought his blade down hard enough to cleave her skull. She cast Shutter, moving two feet to the side as his sword cut through where she had been. She lunged, trying to skewer him through the throat, but she was too off balance, and the mage parried and quickly riposted, cutting at her face. She danced back, realizing even if she weren't hurt, he'd be a challenge.

  He came at her again—smiling, no doubt confident he had her—and carried out a series of cuts and thrusts. All she could manage was to retreat and parry, to give ground. He feinted high and then went low, cutting open her forearm. She cried out in pain as blood flowed down her arm, making her grip slippery. The fingers of her injured arm no longer wanted to work properly, and she had to use both hands to hold the saber. His next cut knocked it from her entirely, sending it clattering to the ground. She stood tall, glaring in defiance as he drew back his broadsword for the blow that would take her head off.

  A man with long dark hair surged forward from behind the mage, barreling through the watching Aztalan soldiers. Tec! she realized. It's Tec! He caught the mage's sword arm by the wrist, stopping him, and spun him about as if he were no more than a child. Tec drove his machete into the man’s gut, driving it with so much force that it went right through the shield the man’s shade had created—she had never seen that happen before!

  With a savage roar like a predatory cat, Tec wrenched his blade up, opening the man from stomach to sternum. The bearded mage fell back, his intestines spilling out, and landed on his back.

  City defenders with bayonets fixed to their rifles threw themselves against the other Aztalan soldiers, driving them away. Smoke, blood, and turmoil surrounded Tavi, and as she fell forward, Tec caught her. The screams of the fighting seemed muted somehow now.

  "Hang on," he said. "Damned crazy, beautiful thing you did, a cavalry charge."

  "Where's Jay?" she asked, her vision going dark. "I want to tell him ... tell him..."

  As darkness rushed in, she thought she must have really hit her head hard, because she heard a helicopter.

  Tec stared in stunned surprise as the Blackhawk helicopter screamed over the trees from the southeast. The aircraft opened fire with missiles, the 70 mm unguided rockets exploding among the Aztalan soldiers attacking them and destroying their cohesion. Then the aircraft swept over Tec, banked, and came back at the Aztalans. It was one of Tec's helicopters, he was certain of it, and judging by the snarling wolf's head on the canopy, he knew who was flying it: the Seagraves were back.

  The roar of the Gatling gun as it opened fire was deafening. The ground around the enemy erupted into clouds of dirt. Men fell, cut to pieces. The defenders with Tec cheered, pumping their fists in the air as the Aztalan brigade broke. Some fired at the helicopter, but their shooting was sporadic and ineffective.

  Tec, still holding Tavi in his arms, screamed at the survivors around him, those he had been able to muster, as well as the surviving cavalry force. "Grab what weapons and ammo you can and get back to the city. Hurry!"

  Corpses and the carcasses of horses lay scattered about him, but he found one animal, its dead rider still slumped over the saddle, and caught the loose reins as the animal walked in circles. With Tavi over his shoulder, Tec eased the dead rider to the ground. It was the same mutton-chopped Horse Cop he had seen before. Then he laid Tavi across the saddle and walked alongside the frightened animal, making sure Tavi didn't fall off.

  He and the survivors hurried back to the city as Casey made another pass with the Gatling gun, sending the Aztalans scurrying for cover. Tec looked over his shoulder as he passed under the twisted wreckage of the gates. Spent casings glittered in the air in the helicopter's wake, sparkling in the glow of a sunrise he hadn't expected to see.

  The helicopter banked and flashed overhead as it came to land in the city.

  Chapter 44

  The Blackhawk helicopter settled to a landing within Veteran's Square, the prop wash kicking up dust that forced the growing crowd of excited citizens back. Tec, delayed because he had made sure Tavi was taken to the city's hospital, moved through the crowd, sliding between the people, all straining to see the heroes who had saved them from the Aztalan army. Their celebration was premature, he knew—the Aztalan army still surrounded the city and wasn't going anywhere—but he didn't begrudge them their excitement. And the presence of an armed gunship did vastly improve their tactical situation.

  But sadly, it didn't change the fact the city would fall. They were still outnumbered, still surrounded, and still perilously short of ammunition.

  He eased through the last of the crowd and saw Marshal and Carter arrive, their bodyguards pressing people back. Tec joined them just as the side door of the aircraft slid back, exposing Erin Seagrave, who stared at the crowd with a look of mild panic on her beautiful features. Then she jumped down, followed by her brother Jay. Tec saw Rowan and Casey through the cockpit windscreen, and Tec raised a hand in greeting; Rowan nodded in reply, then turne
d about and said something to someone behind him. Then, as it had last night, the dragon mark on his left palm throbbed with energy, and he gasped, almost reeling.

  "You okay, son?" Presidente Carter asked him.

  He didn't point out that he was significantly older than she was. "I ... something ... I can't explain," he said, making a fist of his left hand. None of this made any sense. Quetzalcoatl was dead. He had seen Itzpapalotl kill his master, watched in horror as she ripped his head from his body. There was no coming back from that, not even for a dragon. Yet his palm...

  Marshal, looking weaker and sicker than ever, moved forward as Rowan Seagrave climbed out of the aircraft. Tec stared in surprise at the eldest Seagrave and the weapon he wore strapped over his back: Tec's dragon-enchanted macahuitl, wrapped in a makeshift leather sheath. How...?

  Marshal and Rowan squared off against one another, and Tec wondered if Marshal could possibly be so foolish as to still harbor a grudge against the man who had just saved the day. Although … he did also burn Marshal’s fleet of Shrike aircraft.

  Rowan stood tall, his expression proud. Marshal stepped forward on his cane with his free hand outstretched. Tec only caught Marshal's final words. "...Welcome home, Captain."

  Rowan took Marshal's hand, and the crowd cheered.

  Small miracles, Tec mused.

  Someone else was climbing from the aircraft, a small figure with long dark hair.

  Tec's breath caught in his throat, his knees weakened, and he felt dizzy.

  It was Angie.

  Carter gripped Tec’s elbow as if afraid he'd fall. Tec, barely aware of the crowd, stared at the woman he loved. And he did love her. He knew that for a certainty now. It wasn't just the dragon-mark that linked them but something much stronger: love. Carter said something, but he didn't hear.