Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Because you never listened to the command frequency before, old man, he chided himself. If he lived through this, there would be many things he would have to learn and get used to as the leader of the CCCP. First, he needed to survive, and make sure these soldiers did, too.

  “We are full up, Commissar. If we’re going to get another load, we need to lift off now.” One of the pilots waved to him through the cockpit screen of the lead helicopter. To punctuate his message, a crack ripped through the plaza; the splitting concrete sounded like thunder, overcoming even the thwop of the helicopter rotors.

  “Lift off now! We will find another ride!” Unter shielded himself from the prop wash, backing away from the helos. They quickly lifted into the sky, staying low to the rooftops; even as the ship was dying, some of its defenses were still operational. When the helos were out of sight, he turned back to the rest of his people. Chug, Kirill (along with several of his copies), and Mamona were all that were left of the CCCP on the ground; there hadn’t been room for either Kirill or Mamona on the last flight out. Chug…was Chug; alone, he weighed enough to change the center of gravity for all but the largest transport helos, even though he didn’t take up much space. And there were still sixteen Russian commandos; they were exhausted, and looking at him expectantly.

  “Eight, we need an extract. This city is falling apart around us, and this LZ is untenable.”

  “I am sorry, Commander, but there is no transport available.” Unter’s HUD lit up with a map and a dotted line. “This is the fastest route from your position to an evac point. I will either have a craft waiting for you, or have one on the way.” It was three kilometers to the new waypoint…and with how quickly the World Ship was falling apart, that three kilometers seemed much longer than it normally would.

  Unter turned to what remained of his forces. “Comrades, drop anything that isn’t a weapon or ammo. We have a run ahead of us.” He started to strip off his rucksack, and the others quickly followed his example. They didn’t need to be burdened down if they wanted to make it off of the World Ship alive.

  “Commissar,” one of the Kirill copies—or was it the original? Did that even matter for his metahuman powers?—stomped up to Unter in a suit of the Supernaut armor. “Should we leave behind the heavy assets? I still have three working suits—”

  “No, leave them. If we run into anything big, we’re dead anyways. We cannot delay.” Kirill nodded once; as one, the three copies all exited their suits, the armored plates swinging away from the power armor’s skeleton like a man being flayed alive. The way that the Kirills moved, slightly different but far too similar to each other, unnerved Georgi. They’re not twins; just copies, remember? Tools to be used if necessary. “Time to move!”

  They ran, and the city did its level best to kill them. The tremors made it almost impossible to run at times; one moment they would all be sprinting full out, and the next, everyone—save for Chug—had toppled over, some of them wiping out quite spectacularly. Before long, several of the men had broken arms, wrists, and fingers; luckily, only one had a sprained ankle, and Chug was easily able to lift the man and run just as fast. The image of Chug carrying a large and uncomfortable-looking Russian commando would have been amusing any other day, but Unter had little room for humor in his heart at the moment. Pieces of buildings rained down around them, the chunks of concrete and masonry exploding like mortar shells when they hit the ground. After one particularly violent tremor, two of the Kirill copies were crushed by a section of a stone column; the remaining two didn’t even break stride, vaulting over the column and the dead copies. Once, Untermensch almost fell into a chasm as the street split in front of him; he skidded to a wobbly stop right at the edge as the far side of the hole receded. There was no way for them to vault over it; Eight had already rerouted their course around the new obstacle, but it would cost them precious time. They were so close…just a little further…

  Unter heard the helo before he saw it; a CH-47 Chinook, American or British, he couldn’t immediately tell and certainly didn’t care. “This is Paladin Two-Two to Red One, come in, over.” Paladin? Definitely British, he decided.

  “This is Red One, we have audio on you, no visual, over,” Unter half-shouted as he ran over a pile of destroyed building.

  “Roger, Red One. We’re twenty seconds out from the LZ; we’re going to set down right in the middle of the boulevard. Don’t keep us waiting, over.”

  “Copy that, Paladin. We’re running—” Movement on one of the rooftops caught Untermensch’s eye, causing him to stop short. It was a damaged Robo-Eagle, huddled against a spire. It spotted the Chinook just as it came into view for Unter, and vaulted aloft from the rooftop, screeching horribly. “Paladin, you have incoming! Abort now!” Before the pilot could respond or even react, the Eagle was on the Chinook, its beak and claws shredding through the aluminum fuselage as easy as if it were paper. One of the Eagle’s wings clipped the rotors, further crippling the Eagle…but also killing the lift for the Chinook. Unter and the rest of his unit could only watch in open-mouthed horror as the Eagle and Chinook, locked together in death, plummeted behind the rooftops. A second later, the whump-BOOM of the explosion killed whatever hope most of them had been holding on to.

  “What the hell are we doing to do now?” Mamona was doubled over, hands on her knees as she struggled for breath. There was an edge of panic in her voice: Unter could see that same fear in the faces of the others. Even Chug appeared agitated, mostly because his comrades weren’t happy.

  “Keep moving to the LZ. They might be able to send another bird for extract,” Unter replied, gritting his teeth against the lie. The ship couldn’t last much longer; would they risk another helo for sixteen soldiers, when there were others that were probably closer and more likely to be saved? Knock that shit off, Commissar. Can’t afford to think like that if you are going to lead.

  They pressed on. The boulevard was gigantic: kilometers long, and several hundred meters wide, flanked by buildings. Up and down the stretch of it, Untermensch could see the remains of the earlier battle: the gutted carcasses of tanks and APCs, burning Death Spheres and trooper suits, and hundreds of bodies. From this distance, he couldn’t tell the Thulians from the humans.

  “Incoming! Contact right!” Unter shouldered his rifle, scanning frantically in the direction that one of the commandos had called out. A large group of Thulians, many of them wounded and nearly all of them carrying weapons, rounded the corner of a building towards the center of the ship. There had to be over one hundred of them in all; it took them a moment to notice Unter and the rest before they, too, brought their weapons to bear. There was one in front of the pack, with one of their energy weapons in his right hand while supporting an injured Thulian on his left shoulder. Unter and the Thulian locked eyes for several long moments; the standoff couldn’t last, and out here on open ground, Unter’s people would be decimated. The only thing he could think of was to order the rest to flee while he tried to charge the Thulians, make them focus on him long enough for the others to get away. But to what purpose? Without an extract, they would die on the ship just the same. Still, some chance was better than no chance. He tensed, readying himself to give the order and then sprint at the Thulians.

  “Bozhe moi! What’s that?” The exclamation came simultaneously from Untermensch’s implant and from his right. He looked where the bilingual voice was coming from; it was Mamona, pointing over his shoulder. He turned.

  Part of the side of the great ship had detached itself. It was a pale green, saucer-shaped craft that Untermensch had taken for a building, wobbling unsteadily as it lifted away from the side of the ship. It hovered uncertainly for a moment, as if it couldn’t make up its mind which of the many fighting groups to attack first.

  The Thulians stared at it, jaws slackening. Apparently the existence of this relatively tiny ship came as a complete surprise to them. Some of them turned back to the forces opposed to them—some of them gazed at the saucer in glaze-eyed dis
belief.

  Then whoever, whatever was in charge of the saucer made up its mind. It shot straight up into the sky, fleeing.

  The apparent leader of the Thulians twisted back around to face Unter. Well, what the hell is it going to be? Something passed over the lead Thulian’s face, and he barked out a command to the group. Several of them wavered a bit, seemingly unsure, until the leader shouted at them more forcefully. The group, unbelievably, started to put down their weapons. Unter could swear that more than a few looked relieved.

  “Commissar?” One of the commandos had moved up beside Unter, his weapon still trained on the Thulians. “Orders?”

  Unter grunted, then lowered his rifle. “Stand down, but keep an eye on them. There may have been enough killing for today, comrade.” Not that this changes shit for us, Unter thought. The ship was still dying, and they were stuck.

  A warning beep from Eight came over his comm. “Commissar, alert! You have one unknown contact moving on your position! Large, airborne, south approach!”

  Unter swung back to the Thulians, snarling. Was this some kind of trick? None of the Thulians had made a move for their weapons, bringing Unter up short. They didn’t know what was coming any more than he did. Another violent quake rocked the boulevard, causing several of the buildings nearby to collapse. Both groups surged unsteadily towards the center of the street, away from the falling rubble. This is it. The ship is finished. Well, come on, you bastards, let’s see what final surprise you have! He brought his rifle up, facing south. Whatever was coming, he wanted to go down fighting.

  Unter would never admit it to another living soul, but he flinched rather badly when the helicopter crested over the rooftops to the south. He nearly shot at it, he was so startled; it took him catching himself and consciously taking his finger off the trigger before he accepted what had happened. It was an Mi-26, one of the largest and most powerful helicopters ever created. This one had a number of burns and even tears in its fuselage, but it was still flying.

  “Holy shit, that’s a big bird,” Mamona exclaimed.

  Unter shrugged. “Is Russian.” He started moving towards the helo as it began its descent—no easy thing, with all of the momentum it had behind it and the wreckage in the boulevard. The pilot, whoever it was, had maneuvered expertly, with the tail ramp facing Unter. “Everyone, get moving, now! Keep an eye on the Thulians, but get them onboard, too!” His tone didn’t leave any room for dissent. His people herded the injured and frightened Thulians onto the helo, their weapons not quite trained on their recent enemies. When the last of the Russians had finally boarded at the end, only then did Unter hop on. He slapped an intercom at the top of the ramp, keying it. “We’re all on, go!” He was almost driven to his knees as the heavy transport helicopter lurched upward faster than he would have imagined possible, the ramp closing next to him.

  Georgi fought his way to the front of the helo, stepping over and around his people, the Russian commandos, and the mass of Thulians. The interior of the helo smelled like hydraulic fluid, blood, and the sickly-sweet cloying stink that the Thulians exuded. When he reached the cockpit, he was hit with an equally disgusting cloud of cheap vodka fumes and body odor.

  “Vadim?” Vadim Barsukov; the pilot that had smuggled Georgi, the Murdocks, and Molotok into India sat at the controls—no co-pilot—beaming a crooked smile at Unter.

  “You expected Lenin?” He turned his attention back to the controls and the sky ahead of them. The few Thulian air defenses that were still active were definitely not going to let a little thing like the ship dying stop them from attacking the helo. “So, was sitting on deck of big transport ship, twiddling thumbs and reading—”

  “You mean drinking yourself blind,” Unter interrupted; he suddenly found himself grinning, too.

  “—as I was saying. Then, heard call over radio, that some sour Ukrainian needed a taxi, but all were taken. Naturally, I stole this one; the other guy wasn’t using it.” He shrugged, then yanked the controls, banking the helo sharply as more flak exploded and energy blasts surged around them. “Many people on the radio started yelling at me, so I turned it off. Had to focus, you see.”

  “All I see is that they truly were scraping the bottom of the barrel for pilots, letting alcoholics, the lame, and madmen fly. In you, they found all three.” He clapped a hand on Vadim’s shoulder. “Thank you, comrade. We owe you our lives.”

  “Ah, to hell with that,” he said, waving a hand, then quickly returning it to the controls when the aircraft started to dive. After a bout of cursing, he regained control of the helo. “Get me a job, then we are square.”

  Now they were high enough that Unter could see the beach, a thin yellow line in the distance, and the stream of craft heading for it, thousands of lines in the ocean below them. “Land us safely on the deck, and consider it done. If you don’t kill us all with your breath, I might be your boss soon.” He looked back to the overloaded main cabin of the Mi-26, at the mass of Thulians and his people. They hadn’t started fighting. Everyone looked like all they wanted to do was sleep, if they weren’t scared out of their wits. “Though, I am thinking you won’t be the only one that has to explain things when we get back. Let’s just get back, first.”

  * * *

  From where she stood on the deck of the carrier, Mel could see the enormous figures of Atlas and Amphitrite moving away from the sinking city. The Thulian stronghold had broken apart at its center, the two halves listing away from each other. Smaller ships and helicopters streamed away from the carnage, facilitating the retreat for those who otherwise might not be able to leave. Within the hour, parts of the city would be swallowed by the sea, settled on the sea floor in the cold, dark muck.

  Mel felt an icy weight at the pit of her stomach. Thousands of bodies remained scattered throughout the city, unable to be retrieved for families and memorials. They would rest alongside the hundreds of thousands of Thulians that filled the sublevels of the city. She wondered how many of them would never find their peace unless someone like Penny came to their aid.

  The girl stood a little ways away from her, thin arms folded across her chest as she watched the same wreckage break apart and disappear beneath the waves. Smears of blood—not hers, of that Mel was pretty sure—covered her sleeves and the back of her nanoweave. Penny kept her chin up and her gaze steady, although she blinked hard a few times when a large section of the city toppled into the ocean with a heavy splash. Mel let out a long breath. She had to stay with Penny, but…

  But she’s dangerous. Mel hated the thought, but she had seen this sweet kid kill dozens of trained soldiers with little more than a cry and a burst of something so raw that it couldn’t be anything but magic. Giving Penny space to manage the rush of emotions was the safest course of action for the both of them, provided that management didn’t require another terrifying release.

  A blue-green disk emerged from within the smoke that continued to billow from the wreckage of the city. It rose straight up before swaying from side to side, unable to choose a direction. Mel tensed, waiting for the craft to race toward the line of ships or attempt some kamikaze maneuver on one of the rescue choppers. Instead, it shot straight up, leaving a graying contrail against the otherwise perfectly clear sky.

  “I wish I knew I could do that, y’know…before. Bad men. And all I could do was watch ’em.” Penny’s words cut through the wind and waves, sending a chill down Mel’s spine. She glanced over at her charge. Penny continued to watch the city burn. “I watched ’em hurt others. But in there, they was goin’ to hurt me. And I got scared. And now they’re dead. I killed ’em.”

  Mel held her breath. These were the sorts of words in the flat tone of voice she expected from soldiers in her strike team, not an eleven-year-old girl. And yet, by involving Penny in this massive offensive, they had used her as part of an elite task force to subvert and subdue an enemy. ECHO had no small part in pushing Penny to become what she now was.

  The girl sucked in her lower lip and narr
owed her eyes, but Mel could see the tears beginning at the corners. “I killed ’em, because I had to,” she continued in a softer voice. “That was what I had t’do, and so I did it. Because I was scared. I didn’ want to. Or maybe I did. Oh god…I just dunno…”

  Penny sagged and Mel moved to catch her before she hit the deck. The girl weighed next to nothing in her arms. “You don’t have to do anything else, cherie. Let’s get you checked out and cleared, and then we’ll find a corner to catch some sleep. You’re safe with me, okay?”

  With her arms looped around Mel’s neck, Penny sobbed quietly against the nanoweave as Mel brought her inside and away from the chaos. Mel’s own fears ebbed, but they would both need time to manage their respective emotions. In time, Mel hoped that Penny would learn the lessons that she herself had struggled to master to remain part of ECHO.

  * * *

  “Where the hell is Victrix?” Jack scowled. He chanced another peek, around a heavy spot of brush where they were currently hiding. From his vantage point, it was a mess of organized chaos. The allied forces had managed a rapid retreat from the dying Masters’ spacefaring city, and now platforms and carriers bobbed in waters off the coast near Fort Lauderdale as ferries moved steadily back and forth bringing the combined allied forces to dry land. Some were using the Coast Guard or National Guard facility. Some were taking the worst injured up the river to the Intercoastal for faster evac than by land. Medevac choppers powered back and forth overhead. And some of the forces, overwhelmed with exhausted, hungry troops were simply loading them into Zodiacs or landing craft and dumping them right on the beach, evacuated of tourists for the event, where a fleet of busses stood by to take them to the mostly empty motels, it being the summer doldrum season.