by Alex Siegel
"How much smaller?" Erika said without looking at him. She was smiling dreamily.
"Hard to say. Less than ten thousand. Maybe even less than five. I'm confident we can launch a full-strength assault if we wait until tomorrow."
She frowned. "I hate to wait. We'll be giving the enemy more time to prepare a defense or do something tricky."
"I know," Walker said, "and I'm not sure what the right answer is. A small force might win a quick victory tonight. A large force guarantees an easy victory tomorrow. We don't have to decide now. It's only three in the afternoon. Let's plan on making a decision after it gets dark."
"Sounds good. We can't let this setback demoralize us. We knew this fight was going to be tough."
"I still have total confidence. We only have to take a single building, and then we're done. Under normal conditions, a hundred soldiers might be enough. Even in the worst case, we'll have at least fifty times that many."
The lieutenant running the air traffic control station yelled, "Sir! The black and gray bomber has been spotted! It's approaching Chicago."
Walker ran to the edge of the platform and looked down at him. "Do we still have control of the Black Owls?"
"Yes, sir. I guess the enemy doesn't know about them. The target will be in range in another couple of minutes."
"Fire as soon as you get a clean lock."
"Yes, sir!" the lieutenant said.
* * *
Tom checked the fuel gauge. The aircraft had enough fuel to reach Chicago safely, assuming it didn't have to circle too many times. He would definitely need to refuel after landing though.
He looked out the windshield at the glittering, blue waters of Lake Michigan. He couldn't see the shore on either side. It was such a large body of water, it seemed more like an ocean than a lake. A few chunks of ice floated on the surface, but it wasn't frozen over. The deep, still waters could hold the summer heat through the entire winter.
The commander of Washington, DC ducked into the cockpit. Neal had a very impressive amount of black hair on his head. His mustache blended into his beard with hardly any gap for his mouth. His chest was so wide, he had to turn sideways to get through the door.
"This is my first flight in many years," he said.
"I hope you're enjoying it, sir," Tom said.
"I am, but it's taking longer than I expected. Are we almost there?"
"The military is blockading Chicago. It took me a while to figure out how to get you through. We had to make a detour through Canada. Would you mind sitting down, sir? It makes me uncomfortable when people stand in the cockpit."
Neal sat in the third seat and buckled himself. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm just anxious to get there."
"No problem, sir. Is it true the entire Society was summoned?"
"Yes, but I don't know why. All I know is we're supposed to protect the twins."
"Who are they?" Tom said.
"Super-hackers. They're part of the Chicago team. I have no idea why they need so much protection."
Tom suddenly heard warning sirens. Red lights began to flash all over the control panel. His brain automatically clicked into combat mode.
"There is a breach in the fuselage," he said. "We're losing pressure fast."
His co-pilot, Will, said, "I'll figure out where it is."
Tom pushed the aircraft into a steep descent. They needed to reach a lower altitude before the pressure loss suffocated the passengers.
More warning lights lit up.
"Now we have a fuel leak," Tom said. "What the hell is going on?"
He checked the radar and saw no other aircraft in the vicinity. None of the defensive systems were showing any threat warnings.
"Fuck!" Will said. "Now we're losing hydraulic fluid. Something is turning us into Swiss cheese."
Tom noticed the controls were getting more sluggish. "I don't think we're going to reach an airport."
Will looked up at the ceiling. "Should we bail?"
"There are four passengers and two thermonuclear weapons on this aircraft. I have an obligation to try to put her down safely. You can bail if you want."
After a slight hesitation, Will said, "I'll stay."
Tom smiled.
He saw a flash of white light out of the corner of his eye. He looked out the window and saw a circular hole in the wing. The edges of the hole were glowing.
"It's an energy weapon," he said. "A laser or something. Neal! My hands are full. Call the legate for me. I need to talk to her now."
After a few seconds, Tom felt a phone pressed against his ear.
"Yes?" the legate said.
"It's Tom, ma'am. An energy weapon is trying to shoot us down. If we don't make it, I just want to say serving you was the greatest honor of my life."
"I won't hear that kind of talk!"
The aircraft suddenly veered hard to the left. Tom fought to level it out. The controls were getting very sluggish and erratic.
The lake was coming up fast. He pulled the stick back all the way and barely managed to avoid crashing into the water. The high-G maneuver squished his body down into his seat, and he automatically tightened his gut to keep blood from draining out of his head.
Landing in the lake seemed like a sure form of suicide. If the plane didn't break up on impact, it would sink because of the holes in the fuselage. The freezing water would cause lethal hypothermia in minutes, assuming anybody escaped drowning.
Tom steered towards the nearest shore. He liked his chances better over land.
"Try to keep the hydraulic pressure up," he yelled.
"I'm doing my best," Will said. "Engine three is on fire."
"Great. I like a challenge."
Neal grunted like a bear. "This is not the death I expected," he muttered.
"It never is," Tom said.
He saw the shoreline up ahead. He had hoped for flat, open ground, but there were trees instead. He adjusted the flaps and angle of attack in an attempt to scrub off some speed and gain a little altitude.
The controls were barely responding. Hydraulic pressure was near zero. He realized he wasn't going to clear the trees. He did his best to aim for a gap between the trunks.
"It was a privilege working with you, Will," he said.
"Same here, Tom," Will responded. "You're the best."
The bomber crashed into the forest at 250 miles per hour.
Nobody survived.
Chapter Six
Ethel stared at the phone in her hand. The call from Tom had ended abruptly.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek.
A moment later she got another call from Todd, the hacker in Washington.
"Ma'am!" he said. "We just lost the tracking signal from Neal and all the other legionnaires on the team!"
"Gather up all the assistants," Ethel said grimly. "Get them into a conference room. Make sure everybody can hear my voice."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied nervously.
Tawni was at the wheel of the van, and Atalanta was riding shotgun. Ethel and Boreas were in back. They were driving towards the historic city of Fredericksburg, Virginia. Homes on either side of the highway were built in a plain, colonial style with straight, unadorned lines. Pickup trucks were common.
Hardly any snow was on the ground, but recent rain had soaked this fertile land. Huge trees and lush grass were everywhere. Some of the trees still had leaves despite it being the middle of December. The terrain was hilly but not mountainous. The road meandered as it went from valley to valley.
Boreas looked at Ethel with a concerned expression. "Something wrong, ma'am?"
"Yes," she said softly. "My jet was just shot down."
He stiffened.
Finally, the assistants in the Washington team were ready to hear her speak. There were five people in the conference room: two hackers, a security chief, a scientist, and a mechanic. It was a standard mix for a Society cell these days. She would've preferred to deliver this speech in person, but a phone call was the best she could
do under the circumstances. It couldn't wait.
"Neal and the others are lost," Ethel said. "I fear they are all dead."
She paused to let the statement sink in.
She continued, "It is a sad fact that most legionnaires die young and in the prime of their lives. We are bullets that the Lord fires at His enemies. We are cannon fodder. We want to live, but we know our time on Earth is brief. That may seem tragic, but it's not. There is no higher calling than being a legionnaire in the Gray Spear Society. Our sacrifice keeps billions of ordinary people safe. We take pride in our willingness to ride into danger and fight the impossible battles. We can't live any other way. When we are killed, it is final proof of our heroism."
She couldn't see the faces of the Washington team, but she could imagine their reactions. Tawni was also listening. The young woman was staring straight ahead, but there were tears on her cheeks.
"Neal and his legionnaires are heroes," Ethel said. "They won't be forgotten. Their stories will be permanently recorded in the tabella. But we must move on. Our enemies leave us no time for grieving. You will have a new commander and new legionnaires soon. I'm not exactly sure when. I'm a little preoccupied right now. Until then, be strong. Good bye."
She hung up.
Tawni sniffled. "Sounds like you've given that speech before, ma'am."
"Yes," Ethel said. "It is a sad fact that legates must watch legionnaires die young and in the prime of their lives."
She called Aaron.
"Yes, ma'am?" he said.
"My plane was just shot down on the way back to Chicago."
He paused. "Any survivors?"
"Doubtful. We lost the entire Washington team and my pilots."
He was silent.
"Warn the other legates," Ethel said. "The skies around Chicago aren't safe for us. Our people need to arrive by car."
"I'll do that immediately, ma'am," Aaron said. "Fortunately, I think most people are already here. God told the most distant teams to come days ago. Somehow, He knew. Marina still hasn't shown up, but I know she's in a car. How was your plane shot down? I thought it had excellent defenses."
"Tom mentioned an energy weapon."
"Sounds high-tech. I'll have Perry find out who's responsible."
"Please, do," Ethel said. "How are things going in Chicago?"
"Fairly quiet until now. Wesley is keeping the other legates in line."
She smiled despite her sadness. "I'm going to miss all the fun."
"I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun at your end," Aaron said. "Haley being kidnapped now wasn't a coincidence. I expect we're going to have to fight the U.S. Army. The Commander in Chief could've stopped this war before it started. Our enemies had to get him out of the picture. If you find him, you may also find the same people who are trying to kill the twins. All our problems are linked together."
"Thanks for telling me that. Now I feel a lot better about sneaking away from Chicago."
"Everybody is asking about you."
Ethel sighed. "As Wesley foretold." She paused. "I'm very glad you're covering for me. You and Marina are the only two people in the world I would trust with that task. Don't let the other legates push you around. At first, they may seem like heartless monsters who only understand duty and death."
"What about after I get to know them?"
"Your opinion won't change."
Aaron snorted. "Yes, ma'am. I have to go."
"Bye." She hung up.
Ethel looked out the window at the lush landscape. First blood had been drawn in this war, and it stung like hell. She would miss Tom and Will dearly.
A few minutes later, Tawni turned into a private driveway. A small, wooden sign announced, "Coolidge Manor - MEMBERS ONLY." No building was in view, and she had to drive through a dense forest before they found the actual manor.
It was three stories tall and had clearly been a private mansion originally. Tall, white columns made of real marble framed a grandiose front door. The many windows had wooden shutters which were embossed with a leaf pattern. The walls were royal blue. Red tiles covered the high, sloped roof. A bronze fountain portrayed a mermaid playing with a dolphin.
Some very expensive cars were parked out front including a Rolls-Royce and a Lamborghini. There was valet parking, but Tawni just used the front lot.
"This must be where the rich, white crackers hang out," she commented.
"That kind of language is beneath you," Ethel said.
"Yes, ma'am."
Tawni parked, and the team got out of the car. They were wearing expensive business suits. Ethel's silk jacket was tailored to cover the machetes on her back. Tawni's sword was strapped to her thigh under her pants, and a hidden zipper would let her draw it quickly. Ethel and Boreas had mirrored sunglasses to hide their unusual eyes. Everybody carried concealed guns.
"Do you want me to take the lead, ma'am?" Boreas said. "Tawni is right about the racism. A white man like me will get more cooperation."
"No," Ethel said. "I'll do the talking. Atalanta, wait out here. Make sure nobody escapes."
"Yes, ma'am," Atalanta said.
Ethel, Tawni, and Boreas went to the front door. It was made of real bronze. Boreas pulled it open and held it for the two women.
The interior of the manor had subdued lighting cast by crystal fixtures. The walls and floor were made of wood stained dark brown. Classical murals painted onto plaster covered the ceiling. Everything looked heavy, solid, and old.
A doorman in a tuxedo was standing in the foyer. He was wearing white gloves and a black bowtie.
"May I help you?" He gave Ethel and Tawni openly suspicious looks.
"I suppose you can," Ethel said. "We need to talk to whoever is in charge."
"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Tinker?"
"No."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave," the doorman said. "Only members and invited guests are allowed to enter the club."
"Why do you assume we're neither?"
The doorman opened his mouth.
"Hold on," Ethel said calmly. "Before you answer that question, know this. It is true that all men and women are born equal in God's eyes regardless of skin color. I suggest you phrase your response in a manner that neither the Lord nor I will find offensive."
The doorman didn't seem impressed. "Coolidge Manor has been in operation for forty years. We've never had a black member or a black guest. Leave before I call the police."
She flipped her leg around and broke his jaw with a spinning kick. He went down and remained still.
She proceeded into the manor. Boreas and Tawni followed.
"Are you going to hit everybody we meet, ma'am?" Boreas said.
"I might," Ethel said.
"Just checking."
They walked into a large room containing card tables. Middle-aged men were playing poker with cards in one hand and mixed drinks in the other. Some were smoking cigars, and Ethel fought the urge to cough. She noted the servants were all African-American, and they wore cheap, embarrassing tuxedos.
"Is Mr. Tinker here?" she said loudly. "I need to speak with him."
One of the poker players stood up. He was wearing a dark blue suit with golden pinstripes. A full head of brown hair was clearly a toupee.
"Who are you?" he said. "What are you doing here? You're not a member."
"Are you Tinker?"
He shook his head. "No. Get out of here before we call the police." He looked at the servants. "Remove these intruders."
The servants came forward.
Ethel took off her sunglasses and glared at them. "Back off," she growled.
They stumbled backwards.
"I'll ask one more time nicely," she said. "Where is Mr. Tinker?"
More men put down their drinks and stood up. It didn't appear any of them were about to answer her.
Ethel turned to Boreas and said, "Leave one of them for me."
He took off his sunglasses. The whites of his eyes became the blue of th
e Arctic Ocean. All the members of the club and the servants collapsed to the floor. They shivered violently in a semi-conscious state, unable to move. Hypothermia was a very unpleasant experience.
Only the first man in the blue suit remained standing. He looked around with an expression of panic.
Ethel ran up to him before he had a chance to flee. She drew a knife from inside her jacket and pressed the tip against his throat.
"Now I'm asking not so nicely," she whispered. "Take us to Mr. Tinker."
He was shaking from fear. "What do you want with him?"
"Don't ask questions. Move, or I'll stain your pretty suit with your blood."
"You wouldn't dare. I'm a very powerful man. I have connections all over Washington."
She glared at him. He moved.
They went into the next room. Several men were playing billiards on tables covered with immaculate, green felt. Boreas knocked them out with his cold gaze immediately. It was already that kind of operation.
"How are you doing that?" the man in the blue suit said.
"None of your business," Ethel said. "Move faster."
They climbed a flight of stairs, and it appeared the second floor contained bedrooms. She heard erotic noises coming from behind a closed door. Another door was open, and she saw a woman in pink lingerie on a bed.
Ethel frowned. "You're running a brothel up here?"
"We're a full-service social club." The man in the suit smiled nervously. "Are you cops?"
"No."
The group went up to the third and highest floor. They entered an office with an antique, ivory desk. The man behind the desk was wearing a white suit with a fresh, red rose in the breast pocket. He was writing a letter with a fountain pen on cream-colored paper. Display cases on the walls held civil war memorabilia. Ethel noted the historic artifacts were generally rebel gray instead of union blue.
"Mr. Tinker," the man in the blue suit said. "You have visitors."
Tinker looked up. His eyes widened when he saw the knife.
Ethel pointed at a corner of the room. "Sit!" she told the first man. "If you move, you'll be dead before you take a second step." She drew a pistol with her free hand to emphasize the point. The .38 caliber semi-automatic had a suppressor.
He sat in the corner like a disobedient child. Boreas moved over to keep an eye on him.
