The End of Liberty (War Eternal Book 2)

by M. R. Forbes

  "It isn't a completely wrong assumption. The only problem is that the enemy has already attacked the Federation as well. They don't care about sides."

  "Yes. That makes sense. We saw your dropship, Captain. It is logical to deduce that you have returned to Liberty for a reason, and the size of your force would suggest your plan relies on rallying forces that are currently under the enemy's control. By that, I assume that you have the means to counter whatever technology the enemy is using to control anyone with a neural implant?"

  Mitchell smiled. "Mostly right, again. The size of our force has nothing to do with the mission parameters. What we've brought is everything we have. We lost more than half of it getting down here."

  "Everything you have?" the Prime Minister said quietly.

  "But you have a counter?" Cornelius asked.

  "We believe we do, sir. We need to get into York to use it."

  "You can't get into York, Captain," Tio said. "We have been here discussing it all morning. Let me show you."

  He walked back towards the map spray-painted on the floor. Mitchell followed behind him, with General Cornelius at his side.

  "She's still alive?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  The General's eyes gained a hint of sparkle, and a small smile crept across his face, gone a moment later.

  "Here, Captain. This is Angeles." He pointed at a blue splotch on the floor. "Over here is York." A red splotch a dozen yards away. "There are three ways into York from here on the ground. The hyperlanes." A black line that ran straight between the cities. "The Lincoln Pass." A more ragged line that rose through spiked, painted mountains. "And the Alley." He ran his foot along a wide, almost straight blue line. The Alley was the overland route used for commercial transport. It was badly damaged in the Federation bombardment and was in a current state of disrepair. "Your mechs won't fit in the hyperlanes, and they're so jammed with abandoned cars that it would take weeks to clear them. The Alley would work, but it is straight and open. You'll be an easy target. The Pass will give you good cover going in, but it is the obvious choice."

  Mitchell stared at the map. Their plan had been to get to Angeles and assess the Tetron's defense of the capital city. It was exactly what the small rebellion was already doing. "Not going to York isn't an option."

  Not if Major Arapo was there.

  "We agree with you, son," Cornelius said. "We need to get that frigger off of our planet. Three mechs will help, and if you have a way to free our people, that could be a game changer. You arrived at the perfect time, Captain."

  Mitchell looked over at Tio. "You wouldn't even be thinking about it if you didn't have an idea of your own on how to stop it."

  The warlord smiled. "Know your enemy, Captain. I have spent my life working to prevent the spread of artificial intelligence, but you cannot prevent something if you don't understand it. My brother is one of the foremost machine learning scientists in the galaxy. One of. I am the other. In fact, I taught him almost everything he knows. I believe that I can infect it."

  "A virus?"

  "A laymen's way to describe it. It is more like an override. I want to gain access to its core and give it new instructions."

  "You would need to reach the core first."

  "Yes."

  "What makes you think your plan would work?"

  He was silent for a few seconds before he started shaking his head. "I don't know that it will. I was more confident before you arrived, when I was still operating under the assumption that the machine was the work of the Federation and that my brother Pulin had written the core programming. Since you say it is from the future? If he did have a hand in its creation, in its origin, perhaps the core has endured for all of these years."

  "Meaning it might still work?" Cornelius asked.

  "Yes, General. If we have two separate ways to counter our enemy, perhaps we can come out victorious."

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Mitchell said. "We need to get to York first."

  General Cornelius nodded. "Yes. Let us continue our discussion. Captain, I would appreciate if you would remain. You too, Colonel Shank. Paul, can you take the others back and get them something to eat?"

  "Mmmhmm. Yes, sir."

  "Zed, two hours, and then I want you to take over for Perseus," Mitchell said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Keeping watch, Captain?" Cornelius asked. "There's no need. We have spotters keeping an eye out for enemy movement."

  "You might think you have it figured out, sir, and maybe you do. You might think the spotters are enough, and maybe they are. No offense intended, General, but I've lost enough of my men getting here."

  "I want to do it, General," Zed said.

  Cornelius smiled. "As you will, soldier."

  Dr. Drummond led the rest of the group from the room. When everyone else was gone, Cornelius leaned closer to Mitchell.

  "She's always had a way of earning people's loyalty and trust. Even the ones that nobody else thought could be salvaged. It seems she found a kindred spirit in you, Captain."

  36

  "We aren't going to solve this today, gentlemen," General Cornelius said.

  Mitchell blinked his eyes a few times and drew in a breath. He didn't know how many hours had passed since he had entered the warehouse. He knew by his bladder that it was a lot.

  "I don't know if there is a solution, sir," Shank said. "Look at that."

  The floor was a mess of painted lines and splotches, an afternoon of plotting an assault on a well-defended city with an unimpressive army. Even with the mechs, even with the hopeful promise of Watson's software and Tio's virus, the odds of reaching the city seemed as impossible as ever.

  Mitchell closed his eyes and put his hand to his head, rubbing his temple to try to stop the throbbing. Not that they had ever been better than impossible. If the stakes weren't for all of humankind, he might have been proud of himself for having made it this far.

  "There is a solution," Cornelius insisted. "We're Space Marines, damn it. We don't give up."

  "I'm not giving up, sir. I don't see that staring at the floor is getting us anywhere. Just point me out to the Alley, and I'll take my Tactical and start shooting at whatever's in range."

  Cornelius laughed. "I feel the same way. We have to be smarter than that. You are right, staring at the map isn't getting us anywhere. It's getting late, and I'm sure you're both tired. I know I am. I'll take you to our mess, and then you can both get a few hours of shut-eye."

  Mitchell hadn't been thinking about sleep until Cornelius mentioned it. He was running purely on chemicals and beginning to feel the mind-numbing side effects of it. A couple of hours would do them all a lot of good.

  "That sounds like the best plan we've made all day, sir," Shank said.

  Mitchell was surprised by how well the two men seemed to get along, as though they had bonded over the Colonel's earlier desire to kill Cornelius. Then again, Shank was a better strategist than he had realized, at least when it came to troop positions on the ground. He had an innate sense of what an average soldier was capable of. Mitchell also had a feeling the Rigger had a good sense of how to get that little bit extra out of anyone he led on the field.

  As long as he could keep his temper in check.

  Mitchell's experience with Cornelius had been limited, but the hours had shown him why the man was a legend among the Marines. His intelligence was obvious, his courage unquestionable. Those made him a good leader, but they didn't make him exceptional. That came from the way he listened.

  He was focused and intense when any of them presented an idea. It didn't matter what their ranks were. It didn't even matter that the Prime Minister had no experience with war. He had listened to all of them the same way, asking questions, treating them with nothing but respect.

  It was impressive, especially considering that David Avalon was a privileged imbecile.

  Mitchell didn't know how Cornelius managed to hold his temper every time the Prime Minister
opened his mouth. He didn't know why the General even wanted the man there. He was essentially the elected official of nothing, his entire constituency under enemy control, his true power and clout reduced to nil. It was the military, the ones with the guns, who had all the say and all the power. It was Cornelius who would decide how they tried to get to York, and Mitchell who would do his best to get them there. The Prime Minister didn't even intend to come along, preferring to stay hidden in the tunnels.

  They had exchanged looks the entire time. Mitchell knew David Avalon didn't like him, even though the others had accepted his side of things. It didn't matter that he had done nothing beyond falling for a pretty woman's advances. It didn't matter that his wife was under enemy control. The Prime Minister blamed him. He could tell. And in the world before M and the Tetron, he might have cared.

  Now, he couldn't believe he had ever been intimidated by the man.

  General Cornelius led them from the building, across the street and back towards the access tunnels. Mitchell glanced at the city center and the Bennett building as they did. It was a shining star in the darkness of the night, casting enough light to the rest of Angeles that they could see without lamps.

  It was also practically begging the Tetron to come and hit it with everything it had.

  They entered the tunnels and retraced their steps, back to the main access point beneath Bennett, and then through a southern tunnel to a third egress point. This one was in the basement of another building, and Cornelius led them up into an underground garage. There were still some functional vehicles here, powered up and illuminating the space. At least a hundred people were settled on the ground around them, mostly freed soldiers, with a few others spotted here and there. They all had rifles nearby.

  They were eating ReadyMeals, the lazy civilian, better tasting version of a military MRE. Each package had a small, disposable power source that would heat the contents, and the smell of the cooked food brought Mitchell to instant salivation.

  "Colonel," Cormac said, approaching him from the left. He was carrying two of the boxes in his hands, and he held them both out to him. "You look like you could use this."

  "Colonel?" Cornelius asked.

  Mitchell felt a sudden chill. He hadn't mentioned Millie's promotion to the General. The rank was given using a special military contingency for times of war. He hadn't earned it, not in the traditional sense.

  "Admiral Narayan cited the articles, sir," Mitchell said.

  He pursed his lips. "Why didn't you correct me? I've been calling you Captain this entire time, son."

  "It didn't seem important, sir. Especially with you being here."

  Cornelius put a hand on Mitchell's shoulder, his expression serious. "Nonsense. To be honest, you earned that rank a long time ago. You should have been a General yourself by now. You could have if you wanted to. Before the Shot. It wasn't my idea, Colonel. I also didn't fight it."

  Mitchell's nerves turned over. The General was giving him a compliment? "I understand. Thank you, sir."

  Cornelius smiled, looking down at the boxes. "RealBeef? Almost as good as the real thing." He laughed. "We'll meet back in six hours. I think a little rest will help get our minds focused on the task at hand."

  "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

  "Goodnight, Mitchell."

  Cornelius wandered away, pausing at groups of soldiers and civilians alike, smiling and shaking their hands, giving them a few minutes of his time. Mitchell watched him, the back of his mind still trying to make sense of it. One General Nathan Cornelius was dead. Another one wasn't. He could only hope this one was the real thing. He wanted to believe he was, and he certainly seemed to be.

  Millie would be ecstatic.

  "Colonel, you need to head upstairs," Cormac said. "Seriously, sir."

  Mitchell looked at him, noticing he was clean and shaved, and his uniform had been washed. He was still wearing the lighter exoskeleton that sat under the heavy suit, and he had added a sidearm to the rifle that was slung over his back.

  "They'll wash your suit for you."

  Mitchell held up the ReadyMeals. "After I eat. How does the rest of it look?"

  Cormac scanned the room. "There's a girl here. She has the nicest body. I don't think she's military. I was going to get her id, and then I remembered nobody else here has a working implant. Hey, do you think Zed-"

  "No."

  "What about Sergeant Geren?" Cormac motioned over to where she was standing with her team. Shank had already found his way over.

  "You want to fight Shank for her?"

  Cormac laughed. "No, sir. I'm gonna go find that girl. Damn, I wish I had gotten her name so I wouldn't have to ask people where the blonde girl with the nice ass went."

  He walked away, leaving Mitchell alone with his meal. He made his way over to the side of the room and sat back against a cold wall, peeling the cover off the first box and breathing in the smell of the synthetic meat. Actual beef from actual cows was a delicacy reserved for the rich and powerful. He wondered if Cornelius had been honest about the similarity, or if he was just trying to make him feel better. Did it matter? He was starving, and it smelled good enough.

  He was working his way through the second box when Zed appeared in front of him.

  "Aren't you supposed to be on watch?" Mitchell asked.

  "Perseus relieved me, sir. He said he got enough rest, and I deserved a break."

  "Is there a specific reason you decided not to inform me?"

  "Sorry, sir. You weren't answering your knocks while you were in with the General."

  Mitchell vaguely remembered the knocks. He had been so focused on the discussions that he hadn't paid them much attention.

  "You should have sent them in as critical."

  "And make you think we were under attack? No, sir."

  "You're right. No harm done. Seat?" He motioned to the wall next to him.

  Zed accepted his offer, sitting cross-legged with her back against the wall.

  "Firedog told me you can get clean if you go up," Mitchell said. The light scent of her soiled suit was reaching his nose. He couldn't help but find it sexy. He couldn't help but be reminded of Ella.

  "I just got off watch. I saw you sitting over here. Why are you sitting by yourself, anyway, Colonel?"

  "Please, call me Mitchell, or Mitch." He looked out over the room, at the people assembled there. "I don't know. I just felt like I needed some time alone."

  "I can go." She started to rise.

  Mitchell put his hand on her leg. "No. You don't have to."

  She leaned back, and Mitchell took his hand away.

  "You have something on your mind, Corporal," Mitchell said. He could see it her eyes.

  "Jennifer, if we're being informal." She paused, staring at him. "I'm not sure I should say anything."

  "I hope you will."

  She smiled, breathing in deeply and holding it for a second, working up the nerve. "General Cornelius. When we first talked to him. He said something about the Riggers. About past transgressions, and what you've done. And the way Shank lost his shit like that?"

  Mitchell felt his jaw tightening. She was sharp. Attentive. He was caught. There was no point in hiding it. Not with Major Long dead. Not with Cornelius alive.

  "The Riggers are military. Special forces. Black ops. They're a special unit composed of soldiers who crossed the line, but whose skills the military deemed too valuable to waste." He waited for her to react. She looked more curious than angry or concerned.

  "Criminals?"

  "Yes."

  "What did they do?"

  "The first thing I learned was not to ask."

  "But you know?"

  "Some of them have told me. I don't know about Shank or Firedog. I imagine Shank beat up a superior officer or something. Cormac? I haven't figured it out."

  "Why didn't you tell Major Long the truth?"

  "Do you think the Major would have accepted the Admiral of a prison ship as his CO?"

&
nbsp; She laughed. "Not in a million years."

  "They're loyal to the Alliance, Jennifer. We all are. And the Admiral has them all under control."

  "Mostly. I know there were a few altercations on the Goliath."

  "Nobody wound up raped or dead."

  "That's a low bar, Mitch."

  "Yeah, I guess it is. Even so, when you're outnumbered and outclassed, do you want to fight with the best of the worst, or the worst of the best?"

  "That depends on what they're the worst at."

  "Exactly."

  Her lips formed a tight line, and she nodded.

  "Pissed?" Mitchell asked.

  "No. I can take care of myself. I understand why you kept it a secret. I appreciate that you were honest with me when I asked."

  "You need to be able to trust me. Now more than ever."

  "Yes, sir." She smiled and got to her feet. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

  "You and Perseus can manage the watch. Knock me if there's an emergency."

  "Okay, Mitch."

  She waved and walked away. Mitchell watched her go, tracing the outline of her in the tight flight suit. She was smaller than Ella, more petite. Her figure and her smell were bringing back memories. He closed his eyes and sat with them for a few minutes, enjoying the sad comfort of a past that seemed so distant but was really the blink of an eye.

  37

  Mitchell opened his eyes.

  A quick check of his p-rat told him he had been asleep for two hours.

  He turned his head to the right. Shank was on the small gel mattress next to him, resting fitfully. A look to his left, and he found an empty space where Cormac was supposed to be.

  He had finished eating, gotten cleaned up, collected a sidearm from a makeshift armory, and gone down to the floor above the mess where hundreds of mattresses had been arranged. He had chosen one near the front of the room and laid down, falling asleep within seconds, his body shutting down completely.

  Two hours. He should have still been exhausted, but he was wide awake. He closed his eyes a few times, trying to fight against the sudden restlessness.