by Jim Roberts
Braddock nodded. Lennox placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “There is much more to be done in this fight, Joseph. Our fates are entwined now. All we can do is see it through to the end.”
Dropping his arm, Lennox turned and walked back to the mission. Joe stood for a time, his mind far away, wondering how his world could become so insane so quickly.
Chapter 22
A Soldier of Honor
The USS Harbinger, Off the Coast of Venezuela, October 7th
THE ETERNAL blackness of the ocean surrounded the Olympus Remora as it sluiced through the cold waters at a speedy seventy knots. Covered with radar absorbent semiconductor materials, the bullet-shaped submersible could travel virtually silent under water. Eight of these crafts were now headed directly for the USS Harbinger, each holding a six-man contingent of Praetorian elite shock troopers, clad in Olympus designed scuba-gear. The soldiers represented the absolute best in Olympus training and equipment.
Falco, the one-eyed Tribune, would lead these men on a near-suicidal mission: to infiltrate a United States Aircraft carrier and extract the man in charge of the Peacemakers—General Jackson Walsh.
Falco communicated with the small surveillance drone flying above the ocean, linking its visual feed into the HUD display of the submersible. The drone’s night vision cameras would give them an overview of the entire ship during the operation, as its video uplink was also connected to the HUD inside the Praetorian’s helmets.
To the south of the carrier strike group, one stealth Hyperion maintained overwatch on the mission; its use factoring into the second phase of Falco’s plan.
The old Tribune tried to breathe normally inside his scuba mask but found it difficult to contain his excitement. The prospect of getting their hands on the terrorist Jackson Walsh filled the old soldier with a thrill he’d thought impossible these days. Olympus would exact its revenge on the man who’d done more damage to their ambitions than anyone living.
And the old Tribune would see it through, live or die.
“This is Falco to Attack Force Sigma,” Falco said over the radio in his diving mask, “Prepare tether procedure.”
The attack force took Falco’s lead as he maneuvered his Remora to follow directly in the wake of the massive aircraft carrier. The submersibles sped closer until they could feel the turbulent water being churned up by the ship’s propellers. Throttling forward, Falco steered the Remora alongside the submerged hull of the Harbinger, matching speed with the enormous warship. Looking through the plexiglass enclosure of the Remora, Falco guided the craft closer alongside the carrier. Flicking a switch on the HUD, Falco activated the magnetic tether on the outside of the craft. The long proboscis extended out from the Remora to clamp on against the Harbinger’s hull. Held firm, the craft was pulled alongside the carrier, just as a true life Remora suckerfish would latch on to larger sea creatures.
Falco checked the status of the rest of the strike force. It took another three minutes for the other Remoras to attach themselves to the carrier.
Phase one was complete.
Falco smiled inside his breathing mask. “All Sigma leaders, begin phase two.”
The HUD displayed affirmatives from each of his Praetorian commanders. Falco gave a thumbs up to his own team of shock troopers before activating the sliding exit hatch on the Remora.
The team was a mere two meters below the surface of the churning waters of the Caribbean Sea. The first thing Falco did upon exiting the Remora was attach a metal disc the size of a garbage can lid to the hull of the Harbinger. Contained within the unassuming disc was a flux compression generated EMP device. When activated by remote, the weapon would create a low-level focused surge of electromagnetic energy capable of knocking out all electronics within a set radius of effect.
Falco had made sure to clamp the weapon at the precise area Cicero had told him—directly opposite the carrier’s Electrical Distribution System. Once activated, the focused charge within the weapon would knock the carrier’s electrical systems completely offline, rendering its communications, klaxons and lighting inactive. Two additional teams would at this very moment be preparing to do the same to the escort ships on either side of the carrier.
Good. Now time for the climb.
Ascending the sheer curved subsection of the carrier would be next to impossible for unequipped troops. Fortunately, every man in Falco’s team was armed with electro-adhesion climbing grips. Shaped like a clothing iron, the cutting-edge devices used conductive electrodes that, when alternating positive and negative charges, created a field of electrostatic adhesion between it and an opposing surface. This allowed the user to climb sheer metallic surfaces with ease.
Fighting against the turbulent water, Falco prepped his own climbing grips. The devices had been heavily tested in the past, but not so much in an aquatic setting.
Now was as good a time as any.
He checked the clock on his HUD.
23:45hrs.
According to their insider, they were to wait for the exact signal before the mission was a go. Falco and his team prepped their weapons. Each Praetorian was equipped with suppressed KRISS Vector submachine guns, semtex, and grenades. One member of each team held a newly designed miniature OLEM railgun. The size of a standard assault rifle, the mini-electromagnetic projectile launcher would turn one man into a wrecking ball of destruction. If things went loud, the weapons would even the severe disadvantage his team had in numbers.
With everything in place, Falco and his Praetorians could only wait, clinging to the carrier like sea barnacles.
Falco hated the idea of having to rely on an untested insider. But the attack would have been infinitely harder to pull off without the aid of the traitor. For now, this was the only way. Once Falco received the go-ahead, his team would climb the side of the carrier. Once on top, the EMP would be activated to allow a stealth infiltration of the ship. They would take out any tangos on the surface of the carrier and proceed inside of the ship with the use of night vision goggles and shroud technology. The resulting chaos would help mask much of the attack.
Falco realized what this assault entailed.
Men would die. American soldiers.
Attacking a United States aircraft carrier would signal an escalation for Olympus. They would be marked as an enemy worthy of no quarter. Falco knew the risk. He told himself that the reward would be worth the cost.
Capturing Walsh meant finding the first Code of War disc.
Once that bloody thing was in their hands again, the Viral A.I. would be complete.
And Olympus would know all.
KIM YUANZA let out a yelp as she accidently jarred her finger with the pair of metal clamps. Shaking out the pain, she swore softly in Japanese at the mess she was making of the Whisper suit’s titanium-mesh inner weave. She’d been working for most of the day trying to repair the damage caused during the fight in the mall and had only succeeded in fouling up what should have been a routine fix. The other Peacemaker techs assigned to maintaining the suit had left to grab some food. In the meantime, Orchid had taken it upon herself to get the suit back to full combat readiness, even if it took her all damn night.
The Peacemakers had been given the use of one of the smaller mechanical bays in the fore-section of the carrier. Within it, the team set up a space to maintain the state-of-the-art Whisper suit. Closed off from the rest of the ship, it was secluded and perfect for working on the finicky piece of technology in relative peace.
Orchid wiped her brow and looked around the stuffy bay. Besides the lone Peacemaker security trooper standing guard outside, the bay was empty. Tools lay around the room, causing Orchid to shake her head at the mess.
Despite feeling quite tired, her own sense of discipline commanded she finish what she started. The readiness of this suit could mean the difference between life and death in the field and she would be damned if her own neglect resulted in her demise—or that of a teammate.
She was about to get back to work whe
n a sound from around the corner of the bay made her look up.
“Hello?” she called out.
No answer.
She frowned, checking her watch. It was nearly midnight. Perhaps the guard had changed without her knowing?
No, the guard should still be out there.
She stood up and walked toward the other end of the bay area. “Specialist? Is that you?”
There was no answer from the guard. Orchid looked outside into the corridor of the aircraft carrier. Further down, she spotted a few Navy crewmen, chatting quietly before disappearing to their duties. Aside from that, there was nobody.
Odd. Where was the guard?
Orchid’s frown deepened. She turned back into the bay area and walked over to her workstation.
It must have been a communications mistake with the security shifts.
Orchid felt the hairs on her neck stand up.
No.
The security troops of the Peacemakers were the best. They didn’t make mistakes like that.
Orchid reached for the handheld PDA on the table to contact Rourke, the only other veteran Peacemaker on the ship. He was in charge of the duty schedule for the Peacemakers and would have some answers.
There was a sound behind her. A footstep.
Too late, she’d begun to swivel around when a sharp pain exploded across her forehead.
Orchid fell backward from the blow, slamming against her workstation. She slipped off to fall in a heap on the floor.
Darkness took Kim Yuanza.
* * *
GENERAL WALSH hung up the phone on the desk with an audible grunt. If he never spoke to another dickless Washington asshole again, it would be too soon. He leaned back in one of two chairs in the tight quarters on the Harbinger, rolling his head side to side to work out the kinks. He’d received confirmation to begin the Op to destroy Damien Sledge’s facility in Puerto Cabello. His next course of action would be to have the Harbinger Captain begin preparing an airstrike against the location.
Before he made the call to the command bridge to relay the details of the mission, Walsh took a moment for himself. He had just allowed a large weight to lift from his shoulders, now that Joe had met Leo Lennox. The culmination of over thirty years of secrets was out in the open. He knew Braddock would be hopping mad at him—would most likely never trust him again—but at least he knew the truth now. So many lies, so many times he wanted to tell Braddock. But no, it was never up to him to reveal Joe’s true ancestry. For now, Walsh had kept his end of the bargain with Lennox. Joe had his true father back, for whatever good that would do him.
Walsh’s thoughts were interrupted by a prolonged bought of uncontrolled coughing. He held a Kleenex to his mouth. He didn’t need to look at it to know it was covered in blood.
It didn’t matter anymore.
In the temporary loneliness of his quarters, Walsh knew this was the end for him. His time was up. He could maybe push through for another few months, maybe a year. But in the end, he knew it was time to pass along the reins of this war to another. Brick would do fine. Walsh had seen to it that the former SAS soldier would rise quickly in his command—would be given the proper access to continue the fight against Olympus. There were still battles to wage…wars to win.
They would be fought by others now.
It was an almost comforting thought to the old war dog. The prospect of death had long ceased to cause Walsh fear. Accepting the end, going out with one last good pop, gave him a true sense of satisfaction.
He was about to pick up the phone when a knock came at the door.
Walsh frowned. Who the hell was that?
“Come in!”
The door opened and a tall, mohawked soldier stepped in.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, General, but do you have a minute?”
“Your timing could be better, Rourke. We’re about to bomb Sledge’s facility off the map. Can’t it wait until—”
“No sir, it can’t” Sitting down in the chair opposite Walsh. There was something in the man’s voice that put the General on edge.
“Alright, Specialist, what is it?”
“It’s about that day, General. Burma, two years ago. The operation that cost me my place within the SEALs.”
Walsh nodded, “Yes, I remember.”
“There’s something I withheld from the Disciplinary committee that day—something I never told anybody.”
“What?”
Rourke sat looking straight at Walsh, “There was nothing in my life I loved more than my SEAL brothers. More than God, more than country. Before them I had nothing…” Rourke swallowed, his next words came haltingly, “That day in Burma…I…I messed up. An explosion rang out in the villa—a smoke grenade. It was just utter chaos. Through the smoke, I saw shapes of armed men. I thought they were enemies. I fired…kept firing until…”
The mohawked soldier shut his eyes tight, “I still see it when I close my eyes—the bodies of my men. Dead. I killed six of them that day, all men I would have given my own life to protect. In that moment of confusion, I had killed that which I loved most: my own honor.”
“Rourke—”
He wasn’t finished, “Maybe I could have gone back to the SEALs. But you were right that day at the Cottage. My own band of brothers would never have me back. And this group of outcasts will never accept me and why should they? I’m an honorless dog.”
“Listen, Specialist, what happened that day, it sounds like it could have happened to anyone,” Walsh said, trying to understand what to make of all this.
“No, General, it didn’t happen to anyone—it happened to me. I have lived ever since as a shadow of what I once was, lost in a world that cares nothing for me. But that all changes now. There is a place where brotherhood still exists. A place where an honorless dog can find a new purpose.”
The hairs on Walsh’s neck stood up. His hand slowly reached to the drawer of the desk, “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t serve you better, General. And I’m sorry for what I must now do.”
Walsh lunged for the Colt Python revolver held in the drawer of the desk, but his aged reflexes couldn’t match the former SEAL. Rourke sprang across the table and jammed a black object held in his hand against Walsh’s chest. Immediately, the General felt his entire body tense uncontrollably. His back seized like a vice and the gun dropped from his nerveless hands. After several agonizing seconds, Rourke released the trigger on the taser and Walsh slumped into his seat, stunned. His limbs were immobile and he was utterly helpless.
Rourke tossed the taser onto the table and withdrew a small syringe. He quickly jabbed it into Walsh’s arm.
“I hope you understand, General. Brotherhood comes with a price.”
As Walsh’s vision began to cloud from the drug in his veins, he saw Rourke pull a small PDA from his pocket. He tapped a command into the screen. A second later, there was a sound from far away in the ship.
The lights went off, plunging the room into darkness.
But by then, Walsh had sunk into his own personal oblivion.
ORCHID WOKE into total darkness. Putting a hand to her brow, she felt sticky blood running down her face. Forcing back the dizziness, she stood to her feet and began feeling her way through the maintenance bay. As her head slowly started to clear, she heard the sound of explosions, coming from the flight deck above her. From the corridor beyond the bay, she could hear the sounds of men shouting. Her stomach twisted in fear, realizing the boat was under attack.
What happened? Who attacked me?
She staggered across the room, using her innate sense of awareness to guide her forward. She had just reached the exit into the ship’s central corridor when the red emergency lights of the carrier came back on. There was another loud rattle from above, closer this time.
Orchid wobbled down the hallway—heaving the contents of her stomach out onto the floor. The pain in her head was making it hard to concentrate. Summoning up her years of training
and discipline, she forced the wooziness down, focusing instead on learning what had attacked her. Orchid had enough wherewithal to realize that some unknown force had boarded the carrier. Her mind screamed for answers. For now, she concentrated on simply getting herself topside. As she ran through the narrow passageway, she reached the subsection of the carrier that housed the visiting Peacemaker forces. Reaching the open hub area, her blood froze at the sight before her.
Several men lay across the floor—Peacemakers and Navy crewmen—gunned down where they stood. Orchid’s heart hammered in her chest as she fought back her emotions.
We’re under attack.
Find the General. Make sure he’s safe.
Swallowing her sorrow at the sight of her dead comrades, Orchid continued on until she reached the General’s quarters.
The hatch was ajar.
“General? Are you alright?” Orchid called as she felt another explosion wrack the ship.
No answer. The room was empty.
Where was Walsh?
She saw the General’s Colt Python lying on the ground, along with several papers strewn about.
Signs of a struggle.
Orchid reached down and snatched up the pistol. Checking it quickly to see if it was loaded, she held it at a guarded stance and left the room toward the stairs leading above-decks. She worked her way up to the outer hatch, the potent smell of burning jet fuel meeting her nostrils as she exited onto the flight deck—
—and into utter pandemonium.
At least a half dozen of the carrier’s complement of Super Hornets had been reduced to piles of burning metal. Bodies of dead Peacemaker and Navy crewmen were spread across the surface of the ship, their bodies shot to pieces.
Looking across the scene of carnage, Orchid saw their killers.
