by T. C. Edge
“I don’t know exactly, but there are several dozen men down there at least. It’s too loud and confusing because of the blasts to know for sure. Some smell like Stalkers…”
I’m just a spectator here, my eyes turning from Kira’s face to Zander to gauge his reaction. It’s not good.
“And they’re stationary? They haven’t broken into the tunnel yet?”
“Not quite. The explosions are clearing the path. It won’t take long, though…”
Zander nods and turns his eyes back in the direction we came from.
“We have to stop them,” he announces.
He thinks again for a moment, scanning us and seeming to realise that we’re only a force of three, currently unarmoured and poorly armed. Or, in my case, completely unarmed.
Then, he says: “Come on,” and begins running back, using his Dasher powers as he goes. I see it just in time, and do the same, and together as a three we begin slicing across the earth, scorching a path straight back to the factory and its secret door and the secret plot unfolding within.
We arrive there in no time at all, reaching the door and slowing as we resume regular speed back down the stairs and through the tunnel. I pant hard, my fitness and durability when using my powers unable to match the others, who don’t appear to be out of breath at all as we go back through the blockage and head for the door at the far end.
It hangs open, and through the gap I see the team being barked orders at by Beckett. He turns his eyes on us as we arrive, and his voice comes surging.
“What did you see?”
The question is directed at Kira. She answers.
“Several dozen men, possibly City Guards, led by a force of Stalkers. They’re about to breach the tunnel.”
Zander’s voice joins.
“We have to stop them,” he announces, eyes switching to each member of the group. “Gather your armour and weapons.”
Beckett’s hand rises. Those under his command stop.
“We have the failsafe. Which tunnel is it?”
“District 10 of the north,” says Zander. “Beckett, we can’t let them through. The failsafe will only slow them, it won’t stop them.”
“And neither will killing them. More will come and we’ll be overwhelmed. Exploding the tunnel will merely delay the inevitable…”
“Exactly,” cuts Zander’s voice. “Delay them. That’s all we can hope for. It will give our people time.”
“He’s right,” booms Freya. “The tunnel failsafe was designed for this specific purpose, but only to slow them down.”
As she speaks, Beckett swivels straight to Alfred, silent in the back.
“Get on the comms and get in touch with the sentries at the passage in district 10,” he commands.
Alfred nods and moves towards a little monitor. He begins dialling in a code as Beckett marches over to him. It takes a few seconds for the connection to be made.
As he works, I whisper to Zander: “But I thought the failsafe was here in this tunnel?”
“We have explosives in every tunnel,” he tells me. “Just in case they were found, we’d blow them and block them off. It’s a last resort because it will limit our movement. But now we have no choice.”
As he speaks, the sound of static begins to crackle and Alfred reaches up to hand Beckett the communication device. He snatches it straight from the technician’s fingers and bellows down the line.
“District 10, do you read? Do you copy, district 10?”
The sound of static continues for a moment. Then, through it, a broken voice can be heard, only faint over the top of the continuing blasts.
“I…read…” says a man. “Who is…
“This is Commander Beckett. How close are they to the breach?!”
His words are stressed yet controlled. No one else speaks as we listen for the sentry to speak again. And during that silence, I think of Drum once more. And all those in the underlands, now very much under threat.
I turn to the wall and see the stacked weapons.
Zander wants me to be a soldier. I’ll be one right now.
The voice comes again.
“Close…sir. What are…orders?”
Beckett looks again to Zander, then Kira.
“Several dozen you say?” he asks.
Kira nods.
“At least. I couldn’t get a clear read with all the blasts. Too much noise…”
Beckett makes a snap decision. Or, more likely, merely follows the protocol in place given this eventuality.
His words bark back down the line.
“Retreat,” he calls. “Get to safety and blow the failsafe.”
There’s a short delay.
Then only half a word is heard, just as the sound of another boom surges loudly up the line.
“Unders...” says the voice, before it’s cut off for good by a deafening roar.
We all turn to each other.
Did he get the order? Did he get killed in the blast?
Zander, second in command, calls for action once more.
“Sir, we have to go. If the sentry was killed, they might get down the tunnel before the second line can trigger the blast…”
Second line? I can only assume he’s talking about the sentries in the rear, deeper into the tunnels, like the position held by Drum.
“And if we meet more Stalkers than Kira thinks she saw? If we die, it’s game over, Zander,” retorts Beckett. “This team has a job to do.” He seems to have an idea, and turns to Alfred. “Can you trigger the blast remotely?” he queries.
The technician awkwardly considers it for a brief second before shaking his head. He does so with a fearful look in his eye, as if Beckett will reprimand him for not giving the answer he desires.
“The b-blasts c-c-cant only b-e t-t-riggered…” he begins.
Beckett cuts him off with a dismissive and impatient wave of the hand.
“Yes, Alfred, OK. It can’t be done.”
The weasel of a man recoils further into his shell. He really isn’t suited to a crisis like this.
“Sir,” says Zander once again, his voice growing sterner, “we have no choice. We have to hold them back and give our men time to set the blast. They’ll be through any moment, and if the tunnel isn’t collapsed, they’ll surge straight through the underlands before we stop them.”
He stares, and Becket once more takes the shortest of moments to consider it. I can see his dilemma. He’s been set the task of destroying the High Tower, and doesn’t want to put the mission in danger. But, if our enemies get into the tunnels, it might just be game over anyway.
I watch him closely as he and Zander enter the short staring contest. Zander could probably flash an order into his head, depending on Beckett’s resistance to such things.
He doesn’t. He’s too good a soldier to do that, to influence a superior officer.
Instead, he just prays for Beckett to see sense. I can see it all behind his eyes.
The Commander obliges.
His eyes switch to the weapons supplies and armour. Then they return to Zander, but his words address us all.
“Suit up,” he says. “We’re going into battle.”
12
The little meeting room where the destruction of the High Tower is being plotted bristles with a sudden activity. Everyone present rushes to the supplies of arms and ammunition against the walls and begins pulling on bulletproof vests and jackets, donning helmets, and snatching up pulse rifles and a variety of sidearms and grenades.
All, of course, except Alfred, who slinks further to the side of the room as the scene unfolds.
For my part, I have little idea of what I’m doing. So Zander acts for me, sifting through the appropriate items of equipment and tossing them my way.
Within only a few minutes I’m dressed as the rest, covered in high tech armour that will protect me against a variety of attacks, and holding a pulse rifle as Zander gives me a quick-fire run-through of exactly how to operate it.
I nod as my finger hovers against the trigger.
“Ah,” he says, pulling it away. He flicks a little dial on the side of the weapon. “Safety catch,” he tells me. “Flick it up to disable it. Then the trigger will fire. I’ll teach you the rest later.”
I blink a few times and cast my eyes down at the weapon. Behind my chest, my heart thunders louder that the factory equipment above.
“Brie, you’re ready for this,” he says. “Stay back and provide cover. I won’t let you get hurt.”
I nod nervously as Beckett peruses us, his eyes flashing from one to the next to ensure we’re all ready to go. We have to be. There’s no more time to delay.
“All of us here are part Dasher except for Rycard and Freya. You two will offer support from the rear.” His eyes land on mine. “Perhaps you should do the same, Brie.”
I feel semi-insulted, as if this is some sort of backlash for my disagreeing with him earlier. More likely, it’s just smart use of his military resources.
But I don’t take it that way.
“I can fight,” I tell him. “I want to fight.”
“No time to argue. You want to be a soldier? Then follow orders, and be one.”
I look at Zander. He nods to me and his voice appears in my head.
He’s right, Brie, he says. Offer cover. You’ll be out of your depth on the front line.
I take exception to the idea, until I glance again at the soldiers gathered before me, each and every one of them seasoned, skilled, and experienced in battle. This team, after all, is formed of the elite.
I’m hardly that.
Beckett’s voice rumbles again, joining the cacophony above and away through the nearby tunnels we’re going to protect.
“Right, follow me, use your powers sparingly until we get there. Keep pace, and keep alert. I’ll scout on arrival and confirm what we’re facing. Brie, you know the way. Follow behind at regular speed with Rycard and Freya.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He nods at me, helping to seal the minor rift between us, and then opens up the door. And as I stand there watching, all of the strike team activate their powers, shooting off down the passage towards the fight.
Beckett, Zander, Kira, Astor, along with the other hybrids Marler, Quinn, and Hilton. A team of seven with three more in reserve, heading off to fight against several dozen.
We just have to hope that, as Rycard said before, Cromwell is keeping his finest Stalkers alongside him. And that Kira’s estimations are accurate…
As the strike force of seven disappears, Rycard steps forward to take the lead.
Freya bounds ahead of him, her thick arm cutting him off.
“Hang on there, half-Hawk,” she booms. “You stay at the rear.”
He glares at her through his good left eye. His right remains hidden behind the patch that covers it.
“What did you call me?” he growls.
“Half-Hawk,” says Freya, stretching to her full height. Rycard’s a tall man, but she towers above him, and has a good few inches on him sideways as well.
“If you have a problem with me, Freya, spit it out and do it quick. We don’t have time for this.”
“We? You were a City Guard only a couple of weeks ago. The others might trust you, but I don’t. And besides, what can you do with that one eye. We don’t need a cyclops tagging along…”
Rycard rises up on his toes to give himself another inch, and shortens the gap between the two. Before they come to blows, I raise my arms and put my body between them.
“For goodness sake!” I shout. “They’re probably just about to enter the fight out there, and you’re bickering in here. We don’t have time for this crap!”
I turn first to Freya.
“Freya, if Beckett, Lady Orlando and Zander trust him, you can. And for what it’s worth, I do too. You know it was me who got him out of Inner Haven, right? He’s trustworthy. End of story.”
Then I swivel on Rycard.
“And Rycard,” I start, raising and finger and ready to reprimand him. Then I realise that this is kinda just Freya’s fault and Rycard isn’t to blame at all. I shrug. “Lead the way…”
He smiles at me and drops his left eye into a wink. And with a little victorious glance at Freya, dances off down the tunnel.
Before I follow, I look to the giant woman and see a look I don’t expect. I’d have anticipated a scowl. What I get is a little nod of appreciation.
“Sorry if I…” I begin.
“No apologies at all. I like strong women.”
That crooked and rare smile of hers peeks from beneath her lips again. And with it, we turn together and begin bounding off after Rycard.
We reach the streets in a little longer than I’d like. That owes purely to the difficulty with which Freya clambers through the gap in the collapsed portion of the tunnel. She’d have trouble enough without her armour. With it, it’s nigh on impossible to drag her through.
In the end, she has to undress, pass her body armour through, and then crawl through the space with a distinct lack of grace. When she finally drops to the other side, her face has gone red and her eyes sheepish.
No one draws further attention to it, though I suspect that Rycard wouldn’t mind doing so.
Hitting the streets, the booming sound of subterranean explosions appears to have ended. In its place, however, the clattering of gunfire fills the sky, our strike force having already arrived and determined that they can’t delay their attack.
We glance at each other from under our masks, and then hotfoot it straight in the direction of the noise. There’s really no need for me to lead the way. It’s distinctly clear in which direction the sound is coming.
There’s little tact to our approach. No time to sneak or take cover as soon as we’ve moved far enough from the factory to ensure that no one saw us emerge from it. Instead, we run as fast as we can – me without using my Dasher powers – until we’re approaching the sounds of battle and glimpsing the distant signs of red and blue flame as pulse rifles breathe their flame.
The sky still fills with that grey smog, pouring from the site of the excavation into our secret world, and around it the charred ruins of a tower block settle, providing the backdrop for the battle that’s currently raging and in full flow.
We stop down the wide street, the place deserted of regular folk and long since abandoned and unused by all but the Disposables and the Nameless creeping around in the shadows. The tower blocks are low and derelict, although for the most part still standing. Only those affected by the recent bombing and now the fizzing gunfire of pulse rifles sit crumbled to the earth.
And from the earth, the enemy come, spewing from the hole their explosives have dug, some of them caught in a bottleneck as our own elite strike force begin to hurl their own grenades into the mix.
The sight gives me some hope that the tunnel beneath has been blocked. It looks as though Cromwell’s men are caught between the collapsed tunnel below, and our own forces above.
I look to Rycard who appears to be thinking the same.
“They’re locked tight,” he says. “We need to clear them up as quickly as we can. Reinforcements will be inbou…”
He doesn’t get to complete the sentence.
From the south, a blaring set of sirens sound, and lights begin to flow amid the grey smoke and billowing clouds of dust, red and blue and lighting up the world like the swirling balls of energy constantly eating away at the building and any flesh they can find.
Thankfully, it looks like none of that flesh belongs to our men. My Hawk-eyes quickly count the colours and see that seven flashes of light are emanating from our positions outside of the crater.
Using their Dasher powers, they shoot and displace in a wondrous show of coordination, zipping from cover to cover in order to get better shots at the City Guards and Stalkers
taking refuge in the old crumbled building.
Away down the street, hidden from view, we’re not in a position to help. And judging from the speed at which the entire battle continues to play out, neither Rycard nor Freya would be able to contribute. Here, speed is everything, the Dashers on our side and theirs capable of feats no normal man could compute.
Watching from afar, Rycard and I scan the scene, the two of us able to keep up through the use of our Hawk-eyes. Behind, Freya can’t even do that, her regular vision incapable of properly following the action. To her, the entire thing must appear a blur, hidden in a cloud of dust and lit only by the pulse rounds and fizzing bullets and growing flames that start to eat away at the surrounding buildings.
But still, the instinct to help is strong.
“We have to go, now,” booms her voice over the tumult.
Rycard shakes his head.
“We’d only get in the way,” he says.
“Beckett asked for covering fire,” she retorts.
“And we’ll provide it. From here.”
His eyes scan our surroundings, searching for a suitable spot from which to snipe. From here, around the corner of the building, we’re barely in a position to do anything.
“High,” he says. “We need to get high.”
In quick motion, he turns and rushes quickly to the front of the building. Kicking through the door, we follow as he bounds up the stairs, moving up floor after floor until we reach the summit up on level 6. There’s another access door to the roof. It’s locked.
Freya’s boot sees to that without the need for a pulse round. The door cracks and breaks from its hinges, and Rycard arches his eyes up at her with a look that says: ‘I’m glad Brie got between us earlier.”
We charge up the short flight of stairs and emerge straight onto the roof. It’s surrounded by a low wall, sufficient to give us good cover and a good position from which to fire. Moving to the edge, the battle comes into view again, our vantage letting us take it all in.
But there’s more. Away beyond the fight below, I see more fire, more smoke. I look to the distance and find little pockets of war appearing across the northern quarter, peppering the city and turning it into a battleground.
