by Jay Allan
“I know you won’t, Ganz. I know you won’t.” Carteria’s voice was cheerful, and he sat there with a smile on his face. But Ganz felt the chill, the vague but ever present threat in the Marshal’s words, in his stare.
He swallowed hard, pushing back the thoughts of his family that struggled to divert his attention. “With your permission, sir…I have considerable work to do before morning.”
“You are dismissed, Ganz.”
Jellack snapped rigidly to attention, and he snapped off a salute. Then he turned and walked toward the door, his pace accelerating as he got closer to the door, to escape from Carteria’s chilling presence.
Chapter Eleven
Ghana’s Main Base
“The Badlands”
Northern Celtiboria
Blackhawk continued down the hallway. It was odd, he thought, ironic that Ghana’s guards were chasing him. He wanted to get out of there, escape from captivity…and deliver payback to the man who’d set him up. If Ghana had known Blackhawk’s intentions—to rid him of his most dangerous enemy—he’d not only have called off his guards, he’d have opened his arsenal to Blackhawk and given him the choice of any weapons and vehicles on the base. And probably fifty thousand ducats as a bonus. But there was no time, and no way to convince Ghana that they both wanted Lucerne dead. So it was still plan A. Get out the hard way.
He could see something ahead, the hint of a shadow. Someone lurking near the corner up ahead. He stopped running, holding his hand up, a signal for the others to follow suit. He stepped forward slowly, silently, repeating the gesture to make sure no one followed him. He was surprised at how well his fellow-escapees were following his commands. They hadn’t known him for more than a few hours, but they had not questioned anything he’d told them to do, not since they’d begun their escape attempt, at least.
His makeshift comrades had handled themselves well so far, much better than he’d expected. There had been no panic, no hesitancy. He knew they weren’t real soldiers, but they had heart…and they were right behind him, showing no signs of faltering.
But none of them can move quietly. They sound like a herd of Stegaroids rampaging across the open plain.
He had the pistol in his hand, aimed forward, ready to fire if anyone came around the corner. He was pressed against the wall, creeping ahead, one careful step at a time.
He reached the corner, and he froze. He could hear more noise, loud breathing, hushed voices. Footsteps. There were at least three people there…possibly four.
He turned and looked back, holding his hand up yet again. Just to make sure. The last thing he needed was the lumbering herd racing forward and giving their presence away. He crept forward, right up to the edge, careful to angle his body so the lighting panel on the wall didn’t cast a shadow where it would be visible. Then, suddenly, decisively, he lunged around the corner, his head snapping up, eyes focusing almost immediately. Four. His hand snapped up. A shot…then another. Two down.
The others were staring back, shock on their faces, weapons coming to bear…
Another shot from the pistol…a third man down. Then, one left, his rifle moving, even as Blackhawk brought the pistol to bear. It was a race, a close one. Blackhawk felt his finger tense, the kickback as the heavy pistol fired. The soldier fell backwards, his own weapon firing as he did, the burst slamming into the ceiling, sending chunks of the white polymer material to ground.
Blackhawk turned back down the corridor. “Let’s go,” he yelled to his comrades, even as he moved forward. He knew Jarvis and his people would have trouble keeping up with him, and he reminded himself he’d brought them as decoys, that it wasn’t important for them to escape. But he still found himself holding back, lagging behind so he didn’t get too far ahead. That wasn’t how he would have done things before. He wouldn’t have hesitated to sacrifice a few recent acquaintances—or even close comrades—to achieve his goal. But a lot of things had changed since then, him not the least. He was a different man than he’d been, and he was beginning to realize just how much he’d changed. Still, it was a hard adjustment, and confusion threatened to push away the rigid discipline that existed at his core. He told himself he wouldn’t get killed trying to save them, but if he could get them out safely he would. But he wasn’t sure what he’d do if it came to that.
He ran to the end of the hall and turned left. He was following the path he’d taken on the way in, when they’d led him to the cell. It was a long way, with a large number of turns, but he was fairly certain he had it all memorized. They soldiers had brought him in somewhere in the rear of the complex, a service entrance of some sort. The corridors had been almost empty then, and they seemed to be the same now.
That’s a lucky break…if a convoy had just pulled in this hallway would be full of enemy soldiers…
He glanced quickly back, frustrated again with the speed his companions were managing. He was tense, his chest tight. Confidence came easily, indeed he knew on some level it had been bred into him. But he could still recognize danger…and they were in the middle of an enemy base, one that probably had a least a thousand soldiers in it. It was no time to be slow.
They’re not slow, he reminded himself. They just aren’t manufactured things like you, with twice the muscle fibers of a normal human being…
His eyes darted up to the top of the walls. There were lamps at intervals along the hallway, and they were flashing red. The whole installation was on alert. And even if he and his makeshift team got outside they would still be in the middle of the desert. They’d never manage to get away on foot…not as a group, at least. So they’d need to steal a vehicle of some sort, something that could get them far enough away to disappear into the desert wastes. And if they couldn’t get some kind of transport…then he’d have to leave his new comrades behind. He would be fast in the desert, swift, silent. He could go far in the night, without water, untroubled by the cold. And then he could continue in the blazing sun of day, his body pushing itself to exertion levels that would kill a normal man. He could get far enough away to elude pursuit…as long as he was traveling alone.
His comrades wouldn’t make it three hours before they needed rest, before the chill of the desert night had them shivering uncontrollably in their light prison jumpsuits. They couldn’t go on for a day or two in the blazing sun of the desert without water like Blackhawk could. He didn’t want to leave them behind. It was a new feeling, one he was still learning to understand. But if it came down to all of them getting caught and him escaping alone…
He snapped out of his deep thoughts, his finger already tightened around the trigger of his weapon, firing on instinct as a cluster of guards ran into the hall ahead of him. He had scooped up another assault rifle from one of the last group of soldiers he’d killed…but none of those troopers had any reloads either. Apparently, a single clip was deemed sufficient to handle whatever crises Ghana’s sentries were expected to face. But then they’d never planned to deal with Arkarin Blackhawk.
He’d already dropped two of the enemy troopers before the others opened fire. There were three still standing, and Blackhawk dove forward, dropping to the ground for cover while he continued to fire. He took down a third just as he slammed onto the hard composite surface…but the impact knocked off his aim, and he missed the others.
He pulled the trigger again. Nothing. He was sure the clip wasn’t empty. He’d paid close attention, and he couldn’t have fired more than half the rounds. Jammed.
Shit.
He tossed the rifle to the side, reaching down for the pistol. But it was under him, and he had to shift to the side to get to it. And even as he did it, he knew it was going to take too long…
Crack. Crack.
He heard the gunfire, steeled himself for the incoming rounds. But there were none. Instead the guards both dropped to the ground. Blackhawk watched, realizing the shots had come from behind. His comrades had taken out the remaining troopers.
He leapt to his feet, turning toward Jarvis and noddi
ng. A silent thank you.
All five of them were still there. That was a surprise. He’d expected them to drop pretty quickly. Inexperienced combatants tended to make mistakes that got them killed, and it didn’t usually take too long. Perhaps they weren’t as raw as he’d thought.
Tig Arhn was standing just behind Jarvis, his hand on his arm, blood pouring through his fingers. Cyn Larison was standing next to him, trying to pry the hand off so she could take a look. But Arhn was still on his feet, clearly in pain, but not making a sound.
Blackhawk nodded. “You okay to go, Tig?”
“I’m good.” His voice was clipped, tense. His face was twisted into a painful grimace. But he stared right back at Blackhawk and nodded.
“Good.” Blackhawk turned back around. “Let’s move. We’re not too far from the entrance they brought me through.” He remembered the guards escorting him into some kind of doorway, one near the supply dump and vehicle storage. If they were going to manage to hijack some kind of transport, that was where they would do it.
Blackhawk stopped at the next corner, staring both ways down the hallway. He was about to turn left when something caught his eye. It was a conduit, a thick pipe fastened at the top of the wall, just under the ceiling.
“What is it, Blackhawk?” Jarvis was right behind him, alarmed at the pause in their escape.
“This is a power conduit…and it looks like a pretty major one. If we can sever it…”
“And how are we going to do…” He never finished. Blackhawk reached out, grabbed the rifle from the Jarvis’ hand…and he started shooting, pouring at least thirty rounds into the conduit. It erupted in a shower of sparks, and Jarvis and his people backed away, throwing their hands in front of their faces as they did.
Then the lights went out.
* * *
“You get ’em, you stay alive…you understand me? Dig out whatever lamps or electric torches you can get…but just keep moving. If they escape, I promise you all a power failure is going to be the least of your problems.” Jangus Sand stood in the hallway, screaming into his portable com unit. His tone was harsh, angry.
Sand was in charge of security for Ghana’s complex, and he was mad as hell. Not only had his people allowed the prisoners to escape, they’d failed in every attempt to stop them, losing more than a dozen of their number without recapturing—or killing—anyone. He was angry with himself too. Since the prisoner exchanges that accompanied the recent truce, the detention area had become a bit of a backwater, a few soldiers who’d gotten in trouble, a handful of raiders under interrogation…nothing that had seemed like a threat. Now he was cursing himself for not paying more attention to the newest prisoner…a man who had proven himself to be a far greater danger than Sand had anticipated.
And now the lights are out. Just fucking great.
Sand’s anger was fueled by his own frustration, but also in no small part by thoughts of what General Ghana would do to him if the prisoners got away. His men were responsible to him. And he was accountable to Ghana. He had no idea how he would explain that the prisoners made their way through the army’s main headquarters and walked out into the desert. No, there was no way to say that, not without risking a firing squad. That left one option. Find the prisoners. Now.
He turned back toward the small column behind him. Two of the men had portable lamps, and they had turned them on, illuminating the utter blackness to a dim dusk. “Give me one of those,” he snapped to the nearest soldier holding one of the lamps.
“Sir!” the trooper responded, and he stepped up toward Sand, handing him the light.
“Converge on sector G,” he said, moving swiftly as he spoke into the com unit. He was close to G himself, and he had a full squad with him…veteran line soldiers, not the trumped up babysitters that pulled security detail in the detention area.
He moved forward, his men close behind. Sand had an assault rifle in his hands, and unlike the prison guards, he had a bandolier across his chest with almost a dozen reloads…as well as two grenades. A pistol hung from one side of his belt, and a sword from the other. His troopers were identically armed.
Sand whipped around the corner and then he stopped as his com unit crackled to life.
“Captain, we just found half a dozen bodies. Looks like there was some kind of firefight here.” It was one of his squad leaders, Sergeant Zahg. His mind focused, remembering where he’d sent Zahg.
Near the main freight delivery zone.
Of course. That’s where they brought the new prisoner in.
And the main power conduits run through that area…
“All units, forget sector G. Move to Sector M immediately.” He flipped the channel on his com unit. “Central Command, I want troops in the transport area immediately. All incoming and outgoing traffic is to be suspended.”
“I’m sorry, Captain…I’m going to need authorization from Colonel Belwar to shut down transport ops.” The voice on the com was soft, lethargic. Morale had been poor since General Lucerne’s army had defeated Ghana’s forces in three consecutive battles. Sand had struggled to deal with the problems the army’s despondency was causing in his own command, but he knew victory was the only real cure.
And if we can’t even hold on to a few prisoners, how are we going to beat Lucerne’s army?
“You will obey my orders at once, Lieutenant, or you will explain to General Ghana why you allowed the prisoners to escape. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain.” The lieutenant’s voice was crisper, more alert, though tinged now with fear. “Issuing shutdown orders now.”
Sand closed the com line and cursed under his breath. He’d exceeded his authority…but no one would care as long as he recaptured the prisoners.
And if he didn’t…
* * *
“Leave him. He’s dead.” Blackhawk’s voice was cold, more so than he’d intended. But he’d been on enough battlefields to know there wasn’t a damned thing you could do for a dead man, no matter how valued of a comrade he was. And the bleeding hole in Mog Poole’s head left little doubt he was dead.
The others stared back at him with undisguised rage, but Jarvis Danith pulled back from Poole’s body and said, “Blackhawk is right. There’s nothing we can do for Mog now…and the last thing he’d want is for the rest of us to get ourselves killed for nothing.”
Blackhawk looked at Jarvis, impressed by the raider’s poise. He was certain none of them had military experience, but someone had instilled an impressive esprit de corps in these people.
I’d like to meet their leader…
He snapped his head right then left, looking down both sides of the corridor. Nothing. He listened as well, his ears straining for any signs of more enemy troops approaching. There were alarm bells ringing now, and the noise made it hard to pick up subtle things like footsteps or far away voices, but as far as he could tell, there was no one nearby.
His eyes turned back, panning over the area. There were seven bodies on the ground, and six were from the other side. The raiders were upset by the loss of their comrade, but Blackhawk realized his ragtag group had actually acquitted itself quite well. He wasn’t ready to admit he was better off for having them along…but he knew it would have been tough to fight his way out alone.
“Alright,” he said, his voice that of a man used to command, “You heard Jarvis. Let’s move. Now.”
He paused for a second, until he was sure they were all responding. Then he stepped forward. The exit was at the end of the hallway, and unless Ghana’s people were total idiots, they had to have a good idea where the escapees were.
He was halfway down the hallway when the door swung open, and soldiers stared pouring in. He reacted on instinct, and his rifle was down, firing with deadly accuracy before the enemy troopers could respond. He dropped three of them before the others pulled back outside, closing the door behind them.
Blackhawk’s mind was deep in the state he called the battle trance. He was thinking rapidly, so much
so that events around him seemed to be happening in slow motion. His legs tensed, lunged forward. He had to get to the door before the enemy could lock or bar it. If his people were trapped in this hallway, the escape attempt was over.
He bolted forward, slammed into the door, his hand moving toward the panel, pulling down the cover over the emergency controls. His hand reached inside, twisting the latch…and the door popped open.
He swung around slipping through the opening, and out into the night air. It was crisp, cool…but as bright as day. There were at least a dozen soldiers in the area just outside the door, and the whole area was lit by floodlights…clearly not on the same circuit he’d disabled. Ghana’s people were surprised when he emerged so quickly, and Blackhawk knew that gave him an edge…the only one he was likely to have.
His eyes snapped back and forth, scanning the area almost by pure instinct, looking for cover. There was a large transport close to him. A few second’s mad dash could get him there. But those seconds were all the advantage his surprise would give him. He could race for cover, knowing his comrades would come through the door, that the enemy would be ready for them, firing. It was a chance, he knew, to get away, alone at least. To slip into the desert and disappear. While his allies died.
Blackhawk was still analyzing his options when he opened fire. He was never sure how he’d made the decision, what had driven him to stand there in the open, to give away his best chance at escape. He owed his life to his comrades, he knew that much…though that wouldn’t have meant anything to him in the past. But now the thought of leaving them behind, of using their deaths to slip away, was unthinkable.
The rifle was on full auto, and he hosed down the entire area. Two enemies went down. Then four. His arms jerked around, directing the deadly spray in meticulous order, dropping those closest to him, the ones his mind singled out as the greatest threats.
He leapt to the side, just as the others came through the door, adding their fire to his. The enemy was shooting back now, but the ferocity of his attack had unnerved them. Their fire was panicked, wild. And the raiders were all out now, their own shooting far more effective than he’d dared hope.
