by Ryk Brown
The brightly lit fence line grew closer, and Sergeant Surbeck’s hopes of escape became stronger. Then he heard the sound of one of the Jung gunships approaching from behind. He dove to the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee facing behind him, his weapon raised and firing at the gunship. The gunship fired back, tearing up the ground before him as bolts from the gunship’s forward turret walked along the ground and right up to the sergeant. The bolts kicked dirt in his face just before they walked up his body, striking him in the thigh, abdomen, and chest. His body suddenly burned with intense pain as his flesh and bone instantly melted away, and he collapsed on the ground, a smoldering pile of bone and charred tissue.
The gunship streaked overhead, the sergeant’s eyes following it as he lay on the ground in agony. He could hear the sound of the gunship’s turret as it continued firing. He could hear the sound of his men as they, too, were seared by the Jung energy weapons. Moments later, the sounds stopped, and his vision blurred just before it went black.
* * *
Admiral Galiardi sat in his chair, staring at the tactical display map on the far wall. The room had taken a somber tone over the last few minutes, as everyone in the room witnessed the fall of not only the Earth Defense Forces, but all of the national surface forces as well. Icons representing Jung forces on the ground covered the map, especially in areas of dense populations. While the Jung invasion fleet might have been small in number, their ground troops were not.
“Sir,” Rear Admiral Duncan began, “we just lost all contact with the Zhang-Ti.”
“What about the Jung cruisers she was chasing?” the admiral asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“We have lost all contact with them as well. There were numerous nuclear detonations in the area of the contacts. Long-range sensors are picking up scattered contacts, most of them smaller than an escape pod. At that distance, it’s hard to tell, but we’re confident it is debris, probably from all three ships.”
“Then we have no more warships in space,” the admiral said, stating fact.
“That is correct. We are also down to fewer than one hundred fighters, none of which have bases to which they may return and rearm. All our surface-to-orbit defenses were wiped out long ago. The Jung now have superiority in all areas: in space, in the air, and on the surface.”
The admiral sighed. He looked at his friend. “I really thought we had them.”
“We almost did,” Rear Admiral Duncan said. “But I believe it’s time.”
Admiral Galiardi looked at his old friend. They had spent the last twenty years shaping the Earth Defense Forces together, battling politicians and public opinion in their efforts to ensure the safety of their world. They had made compromises that went against their beliefs in order to obtain the concessions they felt gave them the greatest benefit in battle. In the end, it had almost paid off. There was still one more chance.
“You know the order I have to give you,” the admiral said.
“I know, sir.”
“You know how hard it is for me to give that order.”
“I’ll make it easy on you,” Rear Admiral Duncan said. “I’ll volunteer.”
Admiral Galiardi smiled at his old friend as he placed his hand on the console screen in front of him. After the screen scanned his hand to identify him, it displayed a list of options. The admiral selected the option named ‘Buckeye’, typed in a pass phrase, and pressed the initiate button. After logging out, he stood and extended his hand to his friend. “Thank you, Marty.”
“Good luck, Mike,” Rear Admiral Duncan said as they shook hands. He looked his friend in the eye one last time. “Run the bastards off our world.”
“I will, Marty. I will.” Admiral Galiardi turned and headed to his office, just as he had a thousand times before. He picked up a few things from his desk and placed them in his briefcase: a few data chips, a picture of his deceased wife with his children and grandchildren, and one of him and Marty on a fishing trip out on Cape Lopez Bay. He stood at his desk a moment, looking through the window into the command center and hoping that something on the tactical map had suddenly changed for the better, but a thousand blinking red icons still marked his failure.
The admiral took a deep breath, closed his briefcase, and headed out the side exit and into the back corridor. In a few minutes, he would be on a high-speed, underground transport that would take him to the southern edge of the city where he would be covertly evacuated by EDF Special Forces operatives to a safe house hundreds of kilometers away. He had a new mission ahead of him, one that would be even more challenging, but first, he had to disappear. He had to blend in with the population.
Rear Admiral Duncan signaled for his communications officer.
“Yes, sir,” the officer responded as he came to stand near his commander.
“I have two messages for you to send. First, to all stations and all units, transmit the code word ‘Buckeye’ followed by orders to lay down all arms and stand down,” the rear admiral instructed. “The second message is to be broadcast to the Jung on all channels and all frequencies, no encryption. Message reads, ‘We surrender.’”
“Yes, sir,” the comm officer answered, trying to hide his disbelief.
Rear Admiral Duncan went to the admiral’s chair, sat down, and rolled up to the console before him. He placed his hand on the scanner to verify his identity. The screen changed and displayed a list of options. Rear Admiral Duncan chose ‘Buckeye’, typed in a pass phrase, and pressed the execute button. A timer appeared on the screen showing five minutes. It flashed three times, then began counting down. Rear Admiral Martin Duncan had carried out his final orders.
* * *
Admiral Yamori, head of the Fleet’s special projects division, stood in the crisis room at the Special Projects headquarters in North America. As the commander of the department that managed all research and development for the Earth Defense Force, the admiral was one of only three people on Earth that knew about the STS projects.
“Admiral, sir,” the soldier said as he stepped up and saluted, interrupting the admiral’s conversation with a subordinate.
Admiral Yamori looked at the soldier, not recognizing him. He noticed that the man was in full combat gear, heavily armed, and wore the EDF special operations patch on his shoulder.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” the general asked, noticing that there were three more similarly dressed and armed men behind the lieutenant.
“I need you to come with us, sir.”
“What’s this about?”
“Admiral!” a junior officer cried out, turning to move quickly toward him. “We just got word from Fleet Command! We’ve surrendered, sir!”
The admiral’s face turned pale. He looked at the lieutenant, realization in his eyes. For a moment, he thought his knees would give out, and he’d collapse to the floor, but he did not. He managed to summon all his strength.
“Buckeye?” he asked, his voice quivering and barely audible.
“Yes, sir,” the steely eyed lieutenant responded.
“Major,” the admiral said, “order all personnel to remain at their posts until further orders. No one is to leave the building, other than these four men. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the major answered, somewhat confused.
The admiral turned back to the lieutenant, his voice having returned. “We can talk in my office, Lieutenant.”
“As you wish, sir,” the lieutenant responded, gesturing for the admiral to lead the way.
Admiral Yamori walked calmly across the room and down the corridor, the four men following close behind. He reached a side entrance to his office and entered, the lieutenant and one of his subordinates following the admiral inside.
The admiral walked behind his desk and took his seat. “I accept my own fate, Lieutenant,” the admir
al said as he opened his desk drawer.
“Slowly, sir,” the lieutenant warned, his left hand up and his right hand on his sidearm hanging from his belt.
Admiral Yamori’s eyes darted quickly from one man to the next, noting that both of them were poised and ready to draw their weapons. He also knew that special operations soldiers never missed and always shot to kill.
“Relax, Lieutenant,” the admiral said, pulling a small metallic container from his desk. He popped the lid open and tipped the container to empty its contents onto the desk. A small, red capsule fell out of the container. The admiral picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, showing it to the lieutenant. “As I was saying, I accept my own fate. However, I do question that of my staff. Most of them know nothing of the projects that we manage here. Are their deaths really necessary?”
“That’s none of my concern, Admiral,” the lieutenant replied coldly. “I’m just here to carry out my orders, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”
“No shades of gray, huh?”
“No, sir. No loose ends.”
The admiral held the pill up to his mouth. “Good luck, Lieutenant. You and your ilk are going to need it.” The admiral placed the pill between his back teeth and bit down hard, breaking the capsule open. He could taste the bitter liquid as it oozed out of the capsule and spread through his mouth. He tried not to swallow, as if refusing to ingest the vile poison would save him.
The lieutenant watched with professional detachment as the admiral’s face began to grow pale once more. He looked at his watch, checking the amount of elapsed time. The seconds went by sluggishly, as the admiral slowly began to fade away. The old man’s eyelids drooped. His eyes rolled upward and back, and his head fell backward against the tall back of his office chair. His body went limp, his arms dangling at his sides. His mouth hung open, and he began to drool as his respirations slowed.
The lieutenant watched for several minutes before moving behind the desk and checking the admiral’s carotid pulse. As he pulled his fingers away from the admiral’s neck, he nodded at his subordinate. The ensign came around the desk as well and also checked the admiral’s pulse, nodding his confirmation of the admiral’s passing to the lieutenant.
As they moved toward the exit, the lieutenant tapped his comm-set in his ear and spoke. “S-P actual secured.”
A small, black, unmarked airship sat on the street outside the Special Projects headquarters building, its engines idling. The spec-ops lieutenant and his three men exited the front door of the building and moved briskly and confidently to the airship. As soon as the four men were aboard, the airship lifted, swiftly climbing ten meters into the air and speeding off at top speed into the night. As soon as the airship disappeared, the Special Operations building exploded, sending debris flying high up into the air, scattering out in all directions, and leaving a massive, flaming crater where the building had once stood.
* * *
President Scott sat at the back of the underground command bunker deep below the now devastated North American Union capitol building in Winnipeg. For more than an hour, he had watched two tactical maps on the wall. One monitored the defense activity of the NAU forces on the North American continent. The other monitored the EDF forces around the world. Over the last ten minutes, more blue icons had winked out of existence than during the entire hour preceding it. Both maps were covered with thousands of red triangles of various shapes and numerical designations.
The president bolted upright when all of the blue icons on the world map representing EDF forces began blinking white. “What’s going on?” he asked as he stood.
“EDF has just issued a surrender order to all forces,” General Bergeron said as he approached the president. “They’ve also transmitted the code word ‘Buckeye’.”
“What’s ‘Buckeye’?” the president wondered. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a code word,” the general said.
“Sir,” the president’s lead protective agent said, “we need to get you to a more secure location.”
“What?” the president asked, confused. “We’re in a bunker a hundred meters underground. How much more secure can we get?”
“A bunker hundreds of people know about, sir,” the agent insisted.
“Sir!” one of the communications technicians called out. “We’ve lost all contact with Fleet Command! No comms, no telemetry, nothing!”
“He’s right, Mister President,” the general agreed.
President Scott looked at General Bergeron, wondering why the general wasn’t more concerned about the communications technician’s report. “What’s going on here? What’s ‘Buckeye’?”
“I’ll brief you on the way, sir,” the general said as he moved behind the president and his lead agent to grab his briefcase. “We need to get moving while our forces are still active and the Jung are…”
The general never finished his sentence. Shots rang out, ricocheting off walls and consoles and slamming into the bodies of officers, technicians, and protective agents. At least twenty gunshots were fired from one automatic weapon.
One of the bullets entered the general’s back, passed through his torso, and came out the left side of his chest. It continued flying until it struck the president’s lead protective agent in the left triceps. The force of the impact spun the agent to the right, and the next bullet fired hit the president in his back, passing through his lung and exiting just below his right shoulder, sending him falling forward.
The gunfire stopped.
The president’s lead protective agent was already on the floor, his left triceps bleeding. The general’s lifeless body was lying nearly on top of him, covering his legs and left hip.
The shooter, one of the president’s protective agents, pressed the release button on his weapon, dropping the empty magazine to the floor and replacing it with another.
The president’s lead protective agent pushed the general’s body off him and got to his knees, positioning himself between the shooter and the president, who lay on the floor just past him, moaning in pain but still alive. The agent pulled his weapon to return fire as the shooter opened up again, spraying the kneeling agent in the chest and knocking him backward on top of the president. The shooter stepped forward as he fired in order to get a clear shot at his primary target, the President of the North American Union.
The shooter stopped firing, bent over, and pulled the dead agent’s body from atop the president.
President Scott, barely conscious, turned his head toward the weapon now pointed at his face. More shots rang out, and the shooter’s body jerked several times as it fell to the side, just missing the president as he tumbled to the floor.
The room filled with more protective agents and soldiers as they swarmed in, weapons drawn. Agents shouted, “Clear,” as they checked the room for more threats but found none. Someone hollered, “Medics!”
Within seconds, combat medics were at President Scott’s side, cutting away the clothing from his upper body.
“We need to treat on the move!” one of the nearby protective agents ordered.
“Just let me get a line first!” one of the medics demanded as he applied a tourniquet to the president’s arm and started slapping at the inside of his elbow. As his partner placed an oxygen mask over the president’s face, the medic slid an IV needle into the president’s arm.
“We’ve got more wounded over here!” another agent called out.
“Get the gurney ready!” one of the medics ordered.
“Is transport standing by?” an agent asked.
“In the tunnel and ready to roll!” someone answered.
“Which hospital?” one of the medics asked.
“No hospitals!” the agent in charge insisted.
“He needs surgery!” the medic argued.
“Don’t worry; he’ll get it,” the agent insisted.
“Where are we going?” the medic asked as they lifted the president onto the gurney.
“You don’t need to know,” the agent in charge told him. “Just keep him alive until we get there. That’s all you have to worry about.”
* * *
Jung forces marched confidently across the airfield tarmac. Buildings burned in the distance, sending plumes of smoke high into the night sky. The main capitol building stood in the midst of the ruins, relatively unscathed by the battle that had been fought around it only minutes before. Jung gunships patrolled the perimeter, maintaining a constant guard as they searched for any lingering combatants still foolish enough to offer resistance. Jung combat squads captured Earth soldiers across the compound, herding them toward a hastily assembled detention area. The United Earth Republic’s main compound, the symbol of the Earth’s unified effort to protect themselves against Jung invasion, was now under their control.
The Jung squad walked up to the North American Union’s backup presidential shuttle. The officer in charge of the squad opened a small panel on the side of the shuttle and activated the boarding ramp, which deployed slowly out of the side of the shuttle directly below its port boarding hatch.
The officer proceeded up the ramp, followed by his men. He opened the hatch and stepped inside, turning to head forward to the main passenger compartment of the multi-level shuttle. He and his men walked confidently up the aisle of the main cabin, coming to stop in front of the shuttle’s only passenger.
“Mister Scott, I presume?” the Jung officer asked in heavily accented English.
