by Saxon Keeley
A knock on the door reminds her that it is not a sick joke.
“Thirty seconds left,” he warned her.
Through the tears, she can barely see the closet. Nicholas, Alexander and Jessica sit in the corner, huddled together. They look starved and unkempt. When they see Xuan, their faces perk up, thinking they are finally saved.
Alexander leaps into his mother’s arms. She holds him close, one last time. Then, does what she needs to do and pushes him away.
“Stay here, do not move. Do not leave this closet. Father will be coming soon to get you out of here. Sit with Jessica. Stay with Jessica. Do not leave this closet. Do you understand? Alexander, do you understand?”
Her son looks at her confused and hurt, but Alexander nods and does what he is told. Crawling back into the corner, he puts his arms around his cousin and watches his mother usher Nicholas out.
“Nicholas, come with auntie. Come. There is somewhere we need to go,” she whimpered, distressingly tugging at the child.
Nicholas struggles, sensing something is not right. He calls back to Alexander and Jessica, but they are too afraid to intervene. They flail about weakly on the ground, wearing each other down. Eventually Xuan overpowers the child and puts herself between him and the closet. Alexander and his cousin watch as the door closes and they are left in the dark.
China
Wolf
Tonight, the Chairman is making a rare public appearance to celebrate the war efforts. The Forbidden City has opened its gates for the first time in five years to hold the celebrations. Hundreds of selected nationalists and loyalists have gathered in Tianhe Dian Square to enjoy the evening’s entertainment. At twenty-one-hundred hours, the Chairman is scheduled to emerge from the Hall of Supreme Harmony to address the nation. In the Tower of Enhanced Righteousness, Wolf and Portia wait for their opportunity.
Portia checks over her rifle one last time. She calibrates the scope. From up here she has the perfect vantage point of the stage. Not once in her impressive career has she felt this nervous. The heat of the night makes the mask stuffy, yet her commander forbids her to remove it.
“Understood,” said Wolf to Lynx over the coms.
He inspects the extravagant party down below, watching the people enjoy themselves. Plates of food and champagne are served. A band plays and people dance and sing. Expensive dresses from the most exclusive designers are showcased by the female guests, sparkling in a sea of black suits. Business tycoons, high ranking military personnel, elite politicians and China’s most cherished celebrities, all completely unaware of what they are about to witness.
“Lynx and Viper are in the Painting Gallery, they have secured our escape route back through the west gate. Explosives have been planted in case we need a contingency.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Portia, bolstering her own confidence.
She relaxes her grip and begins to slow her breathing. Wolf has worked with many snipers and knows not to say anything from this point. Watching her six, he ensures nothing will spook her.
A plump man comes waddling out from the Hall of Supreme Harmony, he is accompanied by several party members and guards, but the Chairman is not amongst them. The man makes his way over to the microphones and the square falls silent. Proudly he announces something in Chinese and the crowd applauds. The plump man then begins a long rambling speech that even begins to bore those who can understand the language.
Twenty passed nine and the Chairman is still yet to make his appearance. Wolf considers the possibility that the Chairman might not even be here. Any number of things could have happened. All he knows for certain is that his team have not been detected yet.
At last the crowd roars and the plump man stops talking. He averts their attention to the hall and Portia follows his direction. Triumphantly the Chairman walks out to the stage, riling up the audience and savouring the applause. The Chairman is securely in Portia’s crosshairs.
Commanding the people, he holds his hands out and the square returns to silence. They wait in anticipation. Just as he’d practiced all morning, he leans in to the microphones. His lips open as the first word escapes his mouth…
The Chairman’s body drops to the floor. A stream of blood splatters the stone ground. The guards surround the corpse, concealing it from the panicking public.
Wolf rests his hand upon Portia’s shoulder.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“It’s over.”
LIBERATION OF NEO-SHANXI
China
Wolf
Beijing is behind them. Their objective complete. The Chairman is dead and the government is in disarray. A demonstration took place in Tiananmen Square the next morning calling for a democratic election. The protesters were denied their demands. The chaos was fortunate for the four soldiers, who snuck undetected out of city.
Now they head north. The greater the distance between them and Beijing, the more at ease they feel, able to relish in their accomplishment. On top of a steep hill stands the Great Wall. Wolf’s squad stops to admire its magnificence.
“I never thought I would get to see it,” Portia gasped.
“You can see it from the moon,” commented Viper.
Lynx and Portia both look at him, uncertain whether he is joking. “You know that is not true,” said Lynx.
“Sure, it is,” dismissed Viper, pressing on to catch up with their commander.
Wolf scans the area. From the top of the hill they would have a good vantage point. All of them are tired and could use the rest. Tomorrow they have a lot of ground to cover.
“We’ll set up camp in the watchtower,” said Wolf. “It will provide us with shelter and we will be able to spot any hostile units for miles around.”
“Are you serious?” asked Lynx.
“Why do you think they built this wall in the first place?” remarked Viper. “A perfect defence.”
The tower is filled with old tacky merchandise, not what any of them had expected to find stored in a historical military defence. It has been kept there for a long time. Uninterested in the rubbish they used to sell overweight Western tourists, Viper, Portia and Lynx race up to the wall. Wolf hangs back, knowing what they are about to discover.
The three of them gaze out at the view utterly mystified.
Illuminated under the moonlight is a field of American bipedal tanks, abandoned to rust. Nature has started to claim the machines. The decayed bodies of soldiers have fertilised the soil. There are no signs of battle. It is as if they simply stopped their advance and died.
Stepping out from the tower, Wolf removes his mask and joins the others.
“What happened here?” asked Viper.
“Since when were the American so close to Beijing?” asked Lynx, the pain of losing his country cuts even deeper upon seeing this.
“We, or well the Americans,” Wolf corrected himself, “almost won the war. It didn’t take long to drive back the Russians as they were fighting on three fronts. The English were giving them a run for their money in the west, the Middle Eastern Pact from the south. The Chinese almost looked as if they weren’t really fighting. The more ground the Americans won, the harder they pushed. The President was convinced that the war would be over in a matter of months. Right on the capitals doorstep the American forces gathered, all that stood in their way was this wall. Maybe that was their plan all along. The Chinese dropped some sort of bomb, killing all those men and women out there.”
None of them would believe what they were being told if it wasn’t right there in front of them.
“No one knows what they dropped on those soldiers, but whatever it was, it has not been used since. America’s so-called geniuses believe it was an experimental weapon that did not produce the desired results. They were attempting to replicate the effects of the weapon as an ultimatum in case the war didn’t go our way. I recon the facility was lost with the West Coast,” he finished.
“Everything was just left here,” Lynx stated in
disbelief.
“No one has come this close to Beijing, until us,” concluded Viper.
“How do we not know about any of this?” Portia asked.
Wolf lets out a deep and long sigh. “The West didn’t need to know that we were losing the war so early on.”
Curled up awkwardly against the stone walls of the watchtower, the soldiers try to get some rest. A strong gale blustering through the structure makes it impossible to fall asleep. Wolf watches over his squad, his rifle propped up next to him. To make the night bearable he amuses himself with thoughts of his retirement. He never had many plans before, considered that he would always die in battle, but perhaps upon returning to the States he will find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of his days.
Another gust sends something crashing down the stairs. Already on edge, the soldiers reach for their guns, prepared to engage any intruder. Portia volunteers to investigate the noise, only to come back shaking her head.
“Fuck this, I’m going for a piss,” Viper said, agitated and sleep deprived.
Overlooking the graveyard of mechanic giants, Vipers stands on the edge of the wall and relieves himself. A metallic whistling penetrates the air. Matching the tune, he whistles along.
Then a deafening roar rips though the sky. Above him a fiery streak sores over China. The rest of S.E.L. come running out from the tower to witness the object fall towards the earth.
“So, it happened anyway,” Wolf muttered under his breath.
“But we assassinated the Chairman,” said Viper.
“They know. The Chinese must have launched theirs first in retaliation.”
The missile falls behind the horizon. An orange glow radiates as if dawn was breaking. The ground shakes and they are hit by a wave of noise. The four soldiers watch helpless as more missiles follow, detonating across China.
Neo-Shanxi
Wesley Jung
Every soldier had braced themselves for the worst, but as the Grey Heron circles the colony, it is beyond what any of them had imagined. The Imperial Gardens are completely barren, decades of nurturing have been undone in one year. The dense industrial powerhouse of Shanxi’s economy is reduced to rubble. Those from Maia count themselves lucky that their colony did not suffer like this. Wesley remains strong for the others, hiding his own shock. He had planned to deliver a speech, but it seems trivial now.
Grey Herons swarm the sky as the decoys and those transporting the rest of the force land around the city. Wesley listens out carefully for any problems. To his amazement, everything is going according to plan.
As they come in to land, the soldiers put on their helmets. No longer wearing the mossy green armour his brother had originally designed; Maia’s military is dressed in black. Less of the thin exoskeleton is exposed and the padding is heavier. Having seen too many of his comrades killed because of the flimsy glass visor, it is now metal. Both Wesley and Li are thankful for the expensive improvements made to the suit and are confident lives will be saved as a result.
A white dragon runs down the side of Wesley’s helmet, like the one that once ran down his skin. Securing it on tightly, he waits for the hatch to open.
Resistance fighters crowd around the Grey Herons, cheering as the soldiers step out onto the colony. For most, the sudden return of the army is overwhelming. Families are reunited. Friends are brought back together. No longer do they have to endure this alone.
From afar, Wesley watches as Li and Sun Ren find each other in the crowd. They rush towards one another and forgetting decorum they hug. There is so much they would like to say, but too much as happened and so much more must happen. Li spots Wesley and beckons him over.
“Jung, it is good to see you,” she said, throwing her arms around him. She looks at his helmet and laughs. “Take that thing off. We are not in danger from the CERE out here.”
Hesitantly Wesley does as he is told. Not anticipating the disfigurement, Sun Ren gasps as he reveals his face. No words could soften her reaction. Instead Wesley takes it upon himself to break the tension.
“It is good…to see you too. It is good…to be home.”
“Your voice,” she said, not meaning to. “I heard it was bad on Maia, I had no idea.”
Li places himself between his friends to ease the situation. “Things have been bad for all of us. We should keep focused, your brother will be departing for the TFP shortly.”
Bottled water and ammunition is handed out to the resistance fighters, the rest of the supplies are unloaded and ready to be taken by a convoy to the resistance’s headquarters. There is enough water and food donations from Thuỷ Phủ for all the civilians of Shanxi. Sun Ren leads them through the ruins of the Industrial District to their old underground barracks.
Setting up stations in the larger halls that were used for training, Maia’s army begin dispensing the provisions. Hundreds of desperate, thirsty, hungry people form disorderly queues. The sheer number of civilians taking refuge is staggering. There is not a room that is not full. Even the corridors are lined with families forced to seek sanctuary from the occupying force.
“The CERE did not give us much time before they closed the gates to the Political District, the people you see here are those fortunate enough to have escaped the district but unfortunate enough to have missed the evacuation to Maia,” Sun Ren explained as they walk down a familiar path.
“You have done more than anyone could have asked of you,” Li reassured his former commander.
Taken to Sun Tzu’s old room, the resistance has turned it into their operations centre. Tables are covered in maps and files containing the most up-to-date intel. There are desks of people encrypting and decoding messages to and from the Trading District. Li hands one of them a small drive with a list of eight thousand names and orders for it to be sent over an easily interpreted channel, but not making it look too obvious. With confirmation from their commander, the eight thousand names are uploaded.
“You know, if anyone else had suggested this plan, I would have told them where to stick it,” said Sun Ren, half joking.
“Heard it…all before,” Wesley dismissed her reservations.
Posters are pinned around the room. Anti-CERE propaganda recovered from the streets. On one of the posters, the people of Neo-Shanxi stand united under the morning sun with the characters ‘Three Sons’ in the centre. Another has unflattering caricatures of four politicians on a red and white backdrop.
“Down with the Gang of Four,” Li read out loud.
“Du Jianguo, Li He, Yao Hongwen and Israel Epstein,” Sun Ren clarified. “The four who deposed Chairman Zhang and formed an alliance with the CERE. Posters like these are plastered all around the city. A group of intellectuals operating in the Trading District print and distribute them using the waterways.”
“Reckless…” said Wesley.
The mood in the room changes and Wesley is on the receiving end of some nasty glares.
“Far from it,” argued Sun Ren, flushed with anger. “These images have been a symbol of hope for all the people of Shanxi. A reminder that they are not forgotten.”
Wesley looks to Li for help, but even he is not willing to intervene. As Wesley is about to apologise, Sun Ren holds out the palm of her hand and stops him.
“Let me just go and get changed. My squad will join yours infiltrating the Political District,” she said, leaving no room to argue.
Wesley watches her storm off and Li comes and leans up against the table next to him. He had enacted this moment countless times in his head over the past year. This is not how he saw their reunion going. Everything seems disjointed.
“Emotions are running high, be careful of what you say,” Li warned. “I will get the troops ready to move out. See you in a minute.”
Unable to shake his guilt, Wesley heads off after her. Resistance members point him in the direction of Sun Ren’s quarters. Along a dim corridor, he finds her door left ajar. He peers in to check on her.
With her back to the
door, Sun Ren lays out her armour. The metal is scratched, dented and punctured. As she removes her tank top, corresponding bullet wounds scar her body. Stiches hold together gashes that cut deep into her skin. The carp still struggle against the cascading waterfall to transcend into dragons.
Convinced she heard a noise, Sun Ren covers herself and spins around. Checking the corridor outside, no one is there.
Oscar Jung
The pilot flicks off a few switches and the engines go silent. Waiting for the all clear, Oscar sits next to Mẫu Thoải, surrounded by Thuỷ Phủ soldiers. He checks out of the window as soldiers disembark from the other boats and enter Jung Labs.
“Thank you for accompanying me,” Oscar said. “I think my brother believes me to be braver than I actually am.”
“Then we shall be equally useless in a fight,” she joked. “Besides, using the train line into the city will be the safest route. Then we may begin to support the Safety Zones in providing aid to the people.”
Over the coms, a message in Vietnamese is received and the soldiers await the Mẫu Thoải’s signal. With a heavy-heart she nods. The hatch is swung open and the squad escort them out onto the landing pad.
A gust of wind blows Oscar’s coat about, the only memento he has of his father. Taking Mẫu Thoải’s hand, he helps her down from the Grey Heron. She thanks him, but her smile is reserved, as if something in the message has deeply troubled her.
“Oscar, be brave when we enter the labs,” she warned him.
The soldiers secure the entrance and the doors are held open for them. Jung Labs’ white halls are no longer pristine. Bodies of his fellow colleagues are shot dead and left to rot. Each of them killed in cold blood. Those who tried to flee were shot in the back. There was no chance to resist.
A soldier relays a message from the team scouting the facility to the Mẫu Thoải. She makes her way over to Oscar, who is inspecting the corpse of a lab assistant.
