Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  If it hadn’t been for Grey and Herb, she probably wouldn’t have lasted this long. Herb fetched what he could carry and had learned how to use the microwave…though there had been some early missteps. Grey did what a familiar always did at times of great need; he kept her steady, he supplied arcane energy, and he told off-color jokes. Sometimes she thought the last might even be the most important.

  This was it. The armies of the world were massed in India for “war games”—although as far as the world knew there were not nearly as many troops as actually were out there now, so far as the public was concerned, it was only small portions of the armies of the Pacific alliance. ECHO, CCCP, and the Supernaut Corps had been moving in surreptitiously since everything had gotten put on the accelerated schedule. The US military and Russia had had large forces on standby for just such an assault; while many had tried to shuffle off the responsibility onto ECHO to deal with the Thulians, there were enough prudent and forward-thinking planners to figure out that eventually some real firepower would need to be called in. Pop-up attacks and flare ups were one thing; taking the fight to the enemy, where their strength was…that’s how you won wars.

  Vickie just hoped that the Thulians’ hubris and the disinformation that she and her counterparts throughout the world had helped spread would keep the enemy from guessing what the good guys were actually up to.

  It was a damned good thing those forces had been prepared and ready to go, too. If they hadn’t been, there wouldn’t have been any chance to assemble them and have them where they needed to be in time. Now, there were no less than three US Navy battlegroups in the Bay of Bengal. Tens of thousands of ground troops, entire fighter wings and combat aviation brigades, and what looked like an all-star collection of Special Operations Forces from around the globe were all gathered at a staging area in the northeastern corner of Uttar Pradesh where India, Nepal and Tibet all met. It was impressive, to say the least. The government of Pakistan was overtly making saber-rattling noises at India and its allies, and covertly sending in troops of their own. Pakistan knew damn well that if the Thulians started marching, Pakistan would become pavement. Maybe a giant airstrip.…

  Today was the day, and the clock was counting down the last couple of hours.

  Would I have tattled on Saviour instead of helping her if I’d known then how freaking big Ultima Thule was? Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, and Vickie often woke up from her uneasy naps feeling wracked with guilt. I don’t know. How long would it have been before the Thulians launched another huge attack? Weeks? Months? Never? I can’t predict these bastards. It’s like they’re following contradictory orders. Well, they were freaking aliens. I suppose it’s fruitless to try and figure out how they think. For all I know this is how they make war on their planet, wherever that is. Maybe they’re just as puzzled by us.

  Vickie hadn’t been in on much of the planning. That wasn’t her forte. And she figured she had her hands full, first in contacting anyone and everyone who could spread obfuscation and disinformation and convincing them that they needed to do so, and second in making sure all the key players were wired up, and knew how to use their rigs. She had designed the mobile Command and Control Center, which was in a supersonic bomber. If she’d had a choice, it would have been in something with vertical take-off ability, but this was at least inconspicuous among all the other bombers. There was nothing on the outside to distinguish it as different from the rest. She’d created a resonance rig for it that worked with her magic-communications relay. Wish I’d had time to get all the comm on magic freqs, she thought unhappily. The best she’d been able to manage was magic scrambling. Hopefully if the Thulians picked up anything, it would only sound like static.

  As for the disinformation…well often enough “the enemy of my enemy…” held true, and even some of the worst warlords and crime figures were not at all keen on becoming Thulian paste. Working through her parents at the FBI, clandestine and downright illegal lines of communication had been worked, and worked hard. She was glad she hadn’t had to do most of that. She’d probably have been throwing up at the thought of who was going to be briefly “on their side.”

  A lot of her special headsets had gone out too, and she hadn’t been told to whom, yet, other than that the infil teams…and others…would get them. They told her how many were needed—which had been about five times more than she could actually make in the short time she was allotted and she had said so in no uncertain terms. They hadn’t liked that. But she’d made an analogy with the first atomic bombs that at least had been understood. “I’ve only got so much inobtanium,” she’d said sharply. “So you get that many and no more, and right now, the elves mining the stuff are on strike.” There had been grumbling, but acceptance. A shortage of a supply, they understood. That she and only she could make the things—they would never have accepted that.

  The only loose end was Khanjar, but the assassin was involved in a project of her own with a handpicked group. Bella had no orders about her, and Vickie was content to leave Khanji out of the loop for now.

  There were new monitors in here as a consequence of having all the new teams, and they were starting to come up live. The Supernauts had refused a direct link; they were autonomous as far as she was concerned. She assumed they’d answer the orders of whoever was in the hot seat, but maybe not. Like a barbarian horde, probably they’d just do what they wanted to, and you’d have to work around that. They were under Worker’s Champion’s purview, so hopefully he’d keep their destructive tendencies focused.

  There was a quick beeping chime from one of her monitors. Ah, the infil teams are coming up. This was where she was going to do most of her work, when it all came down to cases. “Team Red, up.” That was Molotok, Marx bless him. Playboy off the field, steady as a rock on it, and after the experience in the first infil, she knew that he trusted her. He probably would never say as much, at least to her face, but he didn’t second guess her anymore. Progress was progress. “Reading you clear, Team Red,” she said. She had them all implanted now, except for The Seraphym. There were no spares left. But Molotok greatly appreciated the tech, now that he had it. Team Red’s mission was to find and disable whatever it was that was keeping the force field and illusion up over the valley.

  “Team Blue, we are go.” That was Bulwark. They had the same mission. Both Red and Blue would use the same cemetery-port that the CCCP had left by; Red would, predictably, go left, Blue would go right.

  “Team Earth, go.” That was another ECHO team, led by Corbie, but holding people from ECHO Europe. “Team Fire, we are ready.” A Red Chinese meta team. They’d follow Red and Blue in a half an hour. There were a total of eight metahuman teams, all tasked with taking down the field, and when the field went down, penetrating Ultima Thule and sabotaging anything that looked important. Nothing had been left to chance. If they lost Red and Blue, there was Earth and Fire, North and South, Lion and Tiger. Someone was going to get those fields down. Please, oh gods, let us not lose anyone. Or at least, not anyone I know… She felt briefly guilty for the thought, but couldn’t dwell on it now.

  The first metahuman teams would also be supported by a collection of the best SOF teams the world had to offer. By allied agreement, the first to go in would be from the United States; Army Rangers, Green Berets, 1st SFOD-D (popularly known as Delta Force) and several detachments of SEALs. From around the globe, there were both the UK and Australian SAS, Canadian JTF2, Chinese PLA SOF, German GSG9 that had asked specifically to be included, Spetznaz and VDV from Russia, and naturally Indian Ghatak Force troops. Initially there had been a huge fear about the conflicting command structures involved with so many disparate forces, but somehow it had all fallen together. Apparently the “head honcho” for this entire operation had been able to rope everything together, put the organization in place, and get everyone to nod their heads north and south on it. It was a feat that impressed her. In any other context, she would have called it “miraculous.” Then again…she knew all
about this guy. He had a metahuman ability that had never been identified before, although she strongly suspected that Alex Tesla’s father’d had it, given how quickly he had been able to form ECHO after WWII. The “mystery man” was a supreme tactician; that didn’t seem to adequately cover his metahuman ability, but it was the core of it. Moves and countermoves, strategy, all of it came more than naturally to the man in charge; he seemed to be able to read people, realize their strengths and weaknesses, when they would need help and in what instances, how to best utilize them. What really made it all work was…well, him. He was never an overbearing commander, but instead knew just the right amount and kind of pressure needed to get his subordinates to not only follow his commands, but trust in him implicitly. It didn’t hurt that he was a natural charmer, to boot. Confident, and humble without being overly self-deprecating. And one more thing. Something intangible. Something quite possibly meta-human. Something, oddly, Dominic Verdigris had. An amazing charisma that drew people to him and brought a level of automatic trust. It even seemed to work over comm links.

  The dingus that opened the portal was staying outside the field. The portal would be opened for no longer than it took the teams to dash across. It would close immediately. Thirty one minutes later, it would be opened again. Then twenty eight minutes after that. Then fifteen. Nothing predictable. The last team through would take the dingus with them, and leave it concealed near the first “grave” they encountered. Tesla Generator pulses would be timed to match the portal openings out there where the “war games” were being held. Hopefully the Thulians would think that was causing a glitch in their system.

  She ran through all the “away team” feeds, at least, the ones that were hard-wired with implants into Overwatch Two, and paused when she checked John and Sera’s. Sera was still on a headset. Vickie still didn’t dare try and interface with whatever it was that made her tick. But the feeds she did get from Sera were eerily in sync with the ones she was getting from Murdock. Heart-rate, respiration, bio feeds…nearly identical. The hell is going on with those two? She hadn’t dared probe the “magic” (if you could call it that) the two shared, either. Celestial in origin, that was all she could, or dared to, verify. As for the Overwatch Two implants Johnny still had…something was going on with those, too, but at least they weren’t cutting themselves off from the network. More like…something there was filtering what she got. She was still getting exactly the same data, but she sensed something “hovering” over the link, watchfully. Not going there. Don’t need a guide, or a roadmap. You just stay over there, and feed me what I need, and we’ll be fine.

  She did have to wonder what was going to happen when John met Delta, if he did. He had been Special Operations himself; first Rangers, then Delta. Did they know him, or about him? Would he run into someone he knew? It was a pretty closed community. And what was the meeting going to do to him, even if there was no recognition by either side?

  Well he knew Delta was going to be there. He was a big boy.

  Still.…

  “Overwatch: Open John Murdock,” she commanded. “Bluebird of Happiness to Ural Smasher. You read?”

  Red Team: Forward Staging Area

  “Murdock here,” John said with a chuckle. “The Commissar put you up to callin’ me that, or is this your bright idea?”

  “We’re not on the clock yet, I’m being my cheerful and sarcastic self. How goes?”

  John glanced around the glorified barn. It was hard to even call it that; stacked stone walls, dirt floor, and a corrugated steel roof completed the picture. It wasn’t nearly big enough for their purposes, but then again the “coalition” had commandeered several of them. The entire room was filled with tables, whiteboards, and charts, with people squeezed in between them all. And weapons; assault rifles and battle rifles, grenades, grenade launchers, RPGs, enough ammunition outside under tarps and camo nets to start and finish WWIII. The entire room was a flurry of activity, despite the cramped conditions. Team leaders gathering up their squads, aides running around to update maps and pass on messages, and then of course all of the various metas gearing up. Each individual team seemed to be running mostly the same weapons, for those that carried them. There were several individuals with some more exotic offerings, but for the most part things were kept standardized. John himself was wearing web gear to hold all of the magazines, grenades, and medical supplies that he would need, not to mention mission-specific gear, like explosive charges to use on whatever was powering the Krieger shields. It seemed like the rest of the CCCP was traveling as light as he was; ammo was the heaviest thing all of them were carrying, since they figured they’d need a lot of it. But their main goal was infiltration; getting in, breaking what needed breaking, and then helping the main forces in taking the city.

  It was going to be goddamned bloody.

  “It’s kickin’ right along. I figure we ought to be ready to roll in 15, judgin’ by everyone’s progress.” He took a moment to move off to the side, out of everyone’s way. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

  “Don’t worry about me, I have caffeine.”

  “I worry ’bout everyone. It’s one of my hobbies.” John looked up, noticing that Molotok was calling together the “Red” team. “Time for me to go. I’ll check back in soon. Copy?”

  There was a moment of hesitation on the line. “Any issues with you and Delta I should know about?”

  John paused, thinking. “Shouldn’t be. Everyone’s a professional, here. Afterwards…I just don’t know. We’ll have to see how it plays out.” He had noticed a large group of Delta operators when everyone was first arriving. It had given him a start, even though he had known they would be there. A lot of different feelings had surfaced because of that; fear, longing for the familiar, a certain loneliness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Long forgotten things. John had done his best to tamp them down for the moment. The job had to come first; they wouldn’t have a second shot at this.

  “Do me a favor and just…fly the hell out of there if you get a hint of trouble out of them, all right?”

  “Roger that. I don’t anticipate it, but I’ll keep my head on a swivel. Murdock, out.” John turned in time to see Red Saviour II duck through the low entrance, bee-lining for her people. No one from the CCCP called for attention, but everyone straightened up and faced her anyway. When she was sure that she had everyone’s gaze, she began speaking.

  “You will be having briefing from Operations Commander soon. This is my briefing to you, my wolves.” She showed her teeth in something that was not a smile. It was altogether too vicious and gleeful for that. “I have met Operations Commander. He is to be having my confidence. But he does not know you as I know you.” She met each of their eyes in turn. “This is to being our Stalingrad. No more, no less. We win here, or we lose all.”

  Soviet Bear, in a rare show of soberness, muttered. “Will not be like Stalingrad, Commissar. Should not be, if we are wanting to live through it. Should never again be.” Just the quiet way that Pavel had spoken was enough to cause the rest of the team to share looks.

  “If we do not win here, it will be Stalingrad as if fascista won, old Bear,” Natalya corrected, but without rebuke. “There is no other option. We win, or we lose all. Not just lose here—we lose the world. This is our chance to drive them back! We will seize it!”

  Again, she looked around at them, meeting their eyes, each in turn, with a fierce glare as if she was trying to instill in them the fire that she felt. “There is no one better here than you. No one! You are more than a nekulturny ‘team.’ You are brothers and sisters. You are my wolf pack!” She narrowed her eyes. “And I will to be wery disappointed if you do not pull down the fascista jackal!”

  Untermensch turned towards his fellow CCCP’ers, and began pumping his fist into the air, crying, “Ura, ura, ura!” Several of the older Soviet metas, then the younger ones, and finally some of the Spetznaz and VDV in the barn began to echo the cry. John could almost feel how charged the atmosphe
re was with emotion, the raw current of everyones’ will. The other teams in the crowded building turned to stare; John thought he saw just a moment of envy in the Chinese teams’ eyes. It was heady, to say the least. Finally the shouts died down when Natalya put her hand up.

  “That is all. I will not be giving you orders, except for that. You already have all the orders you need. Strike for the throat, my wolves, and come back with the blood of the fascista hot in your belly!” With a final nod, the Commissar turned on her heel and walked to the entrance of the barn, leaving the teams to finish their preparations.

  Molotok was the first to break the relative silence in the barn. “We lift in 10, tovarischi. Final inspection and then we are moving out. Get to it!”

  John felt Sera’s eyes on him; it was an actual sensation, like the gentle caress of a hand on his cheek. He turned to meet her gaze. Her eyes were…different. Not the pupilless gold of her former self, nor the “ordinary human,” deep blue, but blue with a flicker of gold deep inside. The rest of the team dispersed, doing their final checks on their gear and making sure that everything was ready before the team stepped off. John approached Sera at the same time that she stepped towards him.

  “We are not wolves,” she said, softly. “Not in the way she means it.”

  John thought for a moment, taking her hand into his. “No, we’re not. But we’re not sheep, either. An’ this is war, darlin’. We’ve got lives dependin’ on us. A whole world, if not worlds.” He held her hand up to where they could both see it. “I’ll never let anythin’ happen to you again. Y’know that, right?”

  She didn’t smile. But she did hold his hand tighter. “And I will never let anything happen to you.” She paused in thought. “We must do what we must. But we must not be…vengeful. Yes? Looking for revenge…what is it that the Chinese sage said? You must dig two graves.”