Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  They found their mark.

  “No!” she screamed in horror as he was knocked aside, tumbling. That was a big gun, and if it could explode a tank what could it do to Zac? Could it really …

  No. He hit a hundred yards off course in a cloud of dirt and was on his feet in the same instant, turning the tumble into a roll into a run, making his next leap as the gun opened up again—she could only imagine the surprise of the gun operators—flying once more toward the castle wall, so high that time, she could feel his fury, a hundred feet in the air, arms and legs out for a landing as … the gun hit him again, smacking him off his new trajectory.

  But that was all. A smack. This time he arced to the side, flipping out of control in the air but still flying forward with massive momentum and … crunch! hit the castle wall further down in a shock of stone and dust—an impact she heard all the way across the field. Instead of bouncing, however, he stuck like a dart, arms punching in and finding purchase.

  Incredible. What he could do, what he could endure was just absolutely, unbelievably, incredible. He was getting knocked around not because the gun could hurt him, he was getting knocked around due to simple physics. Fifty supersonic one-pound rounds coming at him each second … of course that was going to do that. But there was no damage. She felt her eyes stretched wide and stinging in the cool air.

  The lives of the gun operators were numbered.

  Probably in seconds.

  Using his grip he flipped himself to the top and sprinted along the upper rampart, a flesh-toned blur, too fast, too far inside the intended arc of the gun and was upon it. What transpired within the emplacement she could not see nor really even hear, all she knew was that it went silent. Quickly thereafter she heard a giant clang! followed by a few smaller bangs that echoed heavy across the field, the unmistakable sound of distressed metal, and she was sure the gun was no more.

  In the wake of that the field was quiet. Eerily so. The gentle breeze blew. The leaves of the nearby trees rustled. Even the small fire from the charred mess that was the Ferrari had burned out and was silent.

  She began to worry.

  She listened a little longer. Nothing. No Zac. Had he gone on into the castle without her? She knew he was growing more and more fearful for her, worried about her safety. He kept saying so. Was he using this opportunity to go on without her? Hoping she’d just stay where she was? Out of the way? It seemed that was exactly what he was doing: run off fast before she could argue. Intending to just take care of things himself. For him the combined fear of leaving her alone versus taking her with him had mostly driven his relenting to her demands thus far. That and his unnatural desire to do what she said. But now, with her safely in a ravine—with all the enemies clearly in sight, in one place, right there in front of them—he’d seized upon the chance to do what he’d been wanting to all along: handle the dangerous stuff without her.

  She listened to the soft rustling of the leaves in the short trees.

  Was he hurt in there?

  With no way to be absolutely sure worry began to take hold. Impossible. There was no way. Yet …

  Stop! She tried to make herself stop before that line of thinking took hold. But the notion had already begun working its way into her mind. An insidious little idea, eating away at reason as the minutes ticked by, all quiet up on the vast hill, no more activity, no more sign. Could something weird have happened? Did the Bok have some advanced technology? Some ancient Kel device that would allow them to injure Zac?

  Or even kill him?

  Zac! Why wouldn’t he come back? At least give her a sign! He could’ve come up to the rampart and waved or something. Or shouted for her to stay. Or given a signal.

  Anything.

  The silence of the whispering trees began to kill her.

  He was so confident in his own abilities. And why shouldn’t he be?

  Now the worry was full-blown. She had to save him. She had to know. It was just her, high up on a remote Spanish mountain, nothing anywhere nearby but a castle full of the enemy. She began to wish she’d brought one of the rifles scattered about the farm from the commando team. Anything with which to fight, never expecting she would have to. She stared at the barren castle.

  Why did you run off without making a better plan?!

  Carefully she scaled the ravine, slowly, little hesitations holding her. She’d been so angry. So filled with misplaced confidence. Now she was scared and felt stupid. At the top of the ravine she reached all the way over, pulled herself into the clear, was out in the open before she could allow herself to stop and …

  Running into the sparse cover of the small trees. There she crouched behind a trunk, hoping there wasn’t another gun. All her senses were tingling, set to 11 on a scale of 10. She saw everything, heard everything, smelled everything. Several of the trees had been cut down before the ballistic rage of the emplacement.

  Trees would not protect her.

  She snapped her eyes across the field between her and the castle. Once she left the trees there would be no more hiding. There was no cover, and it was a good hundred yards or more to the nearest wall. Lots of time in the open, even at a full sprint.

  There was a window there, directly ahead, no bars covering it, no glass. An open entry. Near enough to ground level to go through. It was the only way in she could see.

  She went for it.

  No second thought, up and running just like Zac did, going on impulse, ignoring the throb of her sore leg and hitting a full sprint with everything she had, an action she’d become well used to: running for her life. Dodging left then right around the last trees and out onto the wide open field and only then doubting her decision, regretting it even as she forced herself on as absolutely fast as she could, heels thumping the ground, wind roaring in her ears; drawing the castle to her—catching her fall more than once as she hit a dip or stepped in a hole, trying on top of every other thing demanding her panting attention not to injure herself before she even reached her objective. A twisted ankle or a jammed knee at this point would be it. She would be through; laying in the field like a fly in a web, adventure over.

  A harsh scoff escaped her as she pounded furiously ahead.

  Adventure.

  Yeah, that’s what this was.

  Between checking the ground ahead she kept her eyes on the wall, on the window, on every edge, on every distant opening no matter how high, looking for the glint of a barrel, ready to tuck and roll if needed, to start weaving or anything else she could to avoid a hit out there where there was nowhere to hide.

  Closer. The wall was close, what was probably only seconds seeming like minutes, hours, and she turned her full attention to the window through which she would dive. Wind whistled past her ears, legs and arms pumping, the overly baggy overalls flapping awkwardly but hardly slowing what was surely record speed—probably for any human ever—breathing like a locomotive, feet whipping through the tall grass, over the alternating hard and soft ground, determined not to fall.

  Determined to make it alive.

  And she was there. The last few yards. No shots. Maybe they were preoccupied with Zac. Maybe the only shooters had been up with the gun emplacement. Whatever the reason she’d made it and was unscathed. A little too late she started braking, as hard as she could, jamming her feet ahead of her in rapid succession, digging into the dirt but not soon enough.

  “Uhhnn!” she shouldered into the wall, precious wind punched from her lungs in the impact. But she was okay. All was good. She took a step back and caught her breath, hands on her knees—then remembered there was no time to spare. Panting, she quick-peeked through the window then dropped back down and pushed up flush against the rough stone wall. Reviewing the snapshot of what she saw. Dark inside. No people. She thought there was the light of another room beyond.

  She rose and checked again. Lingered this time when no danger was forthcoming. There was indeed another room, a hall it looked like, through an open doorway. With one more check and a br
ief listen she hoisted herself over the sill and through, diving to her hands on the other side and tumbling to her feet. A perfect gymnastic tumble and she felt a pang of sadness that all that prior practice in her youth was being put to use for this. But there was no time for sadness. If ever she had to stay “on” now was it.

  The room had a stone floor, smoother than the walls. It was dark but her eyes adjusted quickly. The light from the bright sun streamed through the window behind her …

  A man came through the doorway, gun in hand. He reacted as soon as he saw her, jerking the gun up in total surprise but she was quicker. Lunging the long stride between them she had the gun in both hands, twisting the barrel around on him violently before he could apply enough force to resist and … jerked it with every ounce of strength she had; a spastic motion that snatched his arms before he could respond and, exactly as she hoped, snatched his finger against the trigger.

  Bap!Bap!Bap! the muzzle flashed, firing right into his chest at point-blank range. Messy, shocking, loud … he went down like a rock. She held the gun and it wrenched from his grip as he fell, leaving him dead at her feet and the machine pistol in her hands. She checked it over. Short barrel, something like an Uzi, extended magazine sticking from the bottom of the grip, probably mostly full. It was unsilenced and the echo of its burst reverberated down the stone halls. More Bok would be coming.

  She stepped into the hall. Another was there, running around a corner to her right, not far away, gun up and ready to shoot.

  She shot first.

  Bap!Bap!Bap! he ran into the burst and flipped back as if running into a fist; Bap!Bap!Bap! the second group only added to the bloody spray. He flopped to the stones, his own gun clanking at his side. She ran to him, no hesitation, grabbed the gun and slung it across her shoulder. For a moment she looked back and forth between the two dead men, curious she felt absolutely nothing at having just killed them. But she didn’t. Even though she was there for that express purpose it seemed she should feel something. But she didn’t. It was kill or be killed and the Bok were the ones that made that decision. They’d already tried to kill her three times in the last day.

  This was beyond personal.

  She had no idea where to go next. Her only thought was to make her way back in the direction of the giant gun in the hopes of finding Zac. Maybe she would intercept him.

  With that in mind she ran to the end of the hall—right into another guy coming for her. They surprised each other, as had the last two, and like the last two she was quicker. This Bok took an instant high kick to the chest, an unexpected stab with her heel that knocked him sideways into the wall, dazed for an instant and she triggered his chest right where she’d just planted her foot …

  Bap!Bap!Bap! one burst this time, controlled, zero hesitation. The machine pistol was loud, hammering the air in the close confines of the stone hall as her target spasmed against the wall and slid down it in a swipe of blood.

  Three down.

  How many more to go?

  She hoped her fears for Zac were unfounded. Surely he was still alive, making his own way through the castle. She was reminded that, despite the adrenaline of the moment, despite the overwhelming sense of destiny she felt right then, she was vulnerable. Highly vulnerable. She could die easily.

  Crouching a bit she continued, turned the corner and headed deeper into the castle. Jogging carefully—acutely aware, suddenly, of looking like a farm girl from Hee Haw, overalls and barefoot, wielding two machineguns and feeling more like La Femme Nikita. By all counts not belonging in that place in either capacity. But here she was. Moving as quickly as she dared, on high alert, eyes darting, ears pricked beyond all sensitivity. If a gnat farted she would’ve heard and shot it right between the eyes. She passed a computer station of some sort, then another, then a larger room, stones rough and imperfect as they no doubt had been at the time of the castle’s construction. The bigger room was filled with what looked to be networking equipment, orderly cabling, some of it large, high gauge, probably fiber, all of it lit by red lighting; little lights blinking here and there on various pieces of high-tech equipment. The contrast of ancient and modern reminded her of some kind of super-villain complex, like something out of a James Bond movie, or like Cobra Base from GI Joe, or Doctor Doom and the Fantastic Four.

  So far these Bok weren’t far from any of that.

  Suddenly a sound and she whirled as two more Bok ran from a corner behind, a guy and a girl, guns up and looking for targets. Jess saw them first; held both machine-pistols out, spraying a sustained volley down the hall, arms extended as she kept moving, twin muzzle flashes blasting the dimly lit walls with light and sound. The girl dropped in a flail of limbs as the guy leapt back the way he’d come. Jess couldn’t tell if she hit him or not but used the chance to duck into another room to the side. She ran in looking for others, searching for cover. It was a larger, empty room, more computer workstations on one wall. She checked her magazines and readied the guns, even as she heard a distant, “No!” echo down the hall from the way the last two came. The sound of the voice gave her pause.

  No?

  The voice continued shouting: “Fools! Stop shooting! Do not kill her!

  “She is the One!”

  The One?

  And the sound of those words gave her her first chill since entering the Bok’s domain.

  * *

  Zac heard more gunfire off in the bowels of the old castle. After taking out the gun and turning his rage on another group of Bok who came to attack he’d wondered whether he was doing the right thing. He knew Jess too well. Which meant he knew he could likely not count on her to stay put, no matter how quickly he dispatched the Bok. He’d forged on a bit further, determined to lay as much waste as he could before she was put in harm’s way, killing several more Bok before deciding, with certainty, that he must in fact let her know what he was doing. She was just too likely to take matters into her own hands. Back at the top rampart his fears had been confirmed.

  She was nowhere to be seen.

  Meaning she’d come for him.

  Seconds after realizing that frightening reality the gunfire began. At which point he’d launched himself toward the source, full effort, an uncharacteristic panic consuming him. Breaking through feet-thick stone walls when he could find no direct path, slaying Bok who got in his way, all but ignoring those that didn’t, leaving them behind in his mad rush. Each time a new burst of gunfire went off his hope spiked, that Jess was still alive, fighting for her life—crushed immediately by the idea that that series of shots might be the last, the one that killed her.

  Then more shots would come. And on he raced. He ran down a long corridor now, tracing the echoes, running so fast he literally ran along the wall, such was his speed that he actually stuck to the extended curve.

  He’d never felt the impassioned rage he did right then.

  “You will not have this world!” a voice came from up ahead. He was almost there.

  “This world is ours!”

  “It’s not!” an older voice insisted, overruling them all.

  Zac leapt from the last corner into a large inner room, a dozen or so of the Bok clustered within—all with guns in hand. Everyone present jerked their heads in his direction, in reaction to his shocking entrance, guns up and aimed right at him. Only a few in the front could’ve feasibly shot him, but in that initial instant it looked as if they would all open fire, the ones in the rear shooting through the backs of the others just to get him. Such was their aggression, their desire to kill. He could smell it.

  But the old man standing before them held them with a shout.

  “No!” he threw up his arms.

  And there she was.

  Jessica!

  Directly across the room, on the other side of the cluster of bodies, her own guns up in what had no doubt been a standoff, all of it held in check by the old man. The urge to lay into them, all of them, fought with Zac’s reason. He very nearly screamed with the impotence
of it. There were too many. Unless he killed them all in one sweep, before any could shoot, before a single trigger could be pulled, Jess could be hit. By a direct shot. By a ricochet in the stone-walled space. She felt it too; she couldn’t risk moving any more than him. She glanced furtively at him from across the room.

  At the moment, however, all listened to the old man. No one moved. He had a thick head of gray hair and, at least for now, held their attention.

  “He is with her,” he told them, indicating the freshly arrived Zac. “We don’t yet know his role in this.”

  “His role is to kill us!” one of them shouted, clearly looking to incite the others.

  “No!” the old man cut her short. “No. This hate has been caused by Lorenzo. We must think clearly. We know what this girl has done.” He looked to Jessica. “How else do you think she came to be here?”

  No one answered. All were seething. Barely holding themselves still. Zac scanned the scene with his eyes, all of them, everything, darting back and forth, careful not to move. There were a lot of guns in that room. He had to figure out what to do, and fast. The old man was closest to Jess and, while he had no gun Zac could see—and Jess was holding two—Zac was starting to get a very uneasy feeling.

  The man took a few more steps. “You all recognize this,” he said and Zac tensed as he reached for something inside his jacket, withdrawing and holding up …