Meanwhile, Sacks had gone from cavalier to penitent, and was now brooding. Probably thinking his own thoughts about 9/11.
Finishing their duties, they tried to banter some more without much success. Philippe found Sacks’s mood as depressing as the news. At loose ends, they joined the rest of the squad loading equipment onto pallets. Each member stowed a large rucksack fitted with a parachute harness nearby.
The phone on the loading dock wall broke the cadence of tossed duffels, cinching straps, and dragged equipment. Philippe picked up, nodded, and mhm’d a few times.
He turned to the squad. “Briefing in ten! All your crap better be packed because we fly right after. If it’s not on the pallet or in your ruck, you leave it. Now move it!”
A flurry of activity preceded orderly filing into a room down the hall from the loading dock.
The fat Major Coombs, still somehow starched to perfection despite the long day, reviewed the SITREP and mission parameters. Stark satellite photographs of the destruction littered the briefing room screens. Philippe had seen devastation before, but he’d never expected an American air force base to look like the Gaza strip. The fuzzy viral videos didn’t do it justice.
“… So we have no idea how many there are. Only that they possess some kind of aircraft with advanced stealth technology and unfamiliar weapons systems. We don’t know much about their other capabilities, but we assume advanced sensors on par with their other obvious tech levels. Fox Squad, you’ll move by air to a command center being set up here, just outside of White River, Ontario. You will insert by HALO approximately ten clicks out, before moving overland to your positions near the target area. Any questions?”
“Sir, earlier, you mentioned that they might have some kind of shielding or something. Could you clarify?” asked Captain Tremblay, the platoon’s current commander.
Major Coombs shook his head. “I can’t be more specific because we don’t know for certain. There is no footage from inside the base. We’re basing what we know on satellite imagery and casual observance. What we do know is that the Americans took a shot at the large aircraft with a Block IV Tomahawk cruise missile fired from the USS Gettysburg. Nothing, and then the aircraft returned fire with some sort of energy weapon and sank the missile cruiser. Shortly thereafter, it appeared to leave, but we don’t know if the cruise missile had any effect. The Gettysburg didn’t have time to make a battle damage assessment.”
There was an intake of breath from around the room and some mumbled curses.
“I feel like I’m in a Michael Bay movie, Sir,” Sacks interjected to scoffs from the rest of the squad.
Philippe glared at the sergeant, his gaze promising a stiff talking-to later. “Stow that shit, Sergeant Raj,” Leve growled at his subordinate.
Another hand rose, this time from a different member of the squad. “If that’s true about the shielding, why send us snipers out? Even our Barretts with armor-piercing rounds aren’t going to dent it if a cruise missile couldn’t.”
Straightening out his comb-over, the major took a moment to compose himself. “Eyes and ears gentlemen. We need intelligence for the primary assault. You have the advantage of being small targets, unlikely to be detected. Plus, despite the joke about aliens, there was some high-level discussion about whether that was plausible. Only, we have some intel from the Americans that the beings on board are human. Or at least they look like it. Therefore, if you are able to take a shot, you are pre-authorized to set up for kill shots. We’d like something living to question, but at this point, our neighbors to the south would take a corpse as an acceptable alternative.”
It was always fun soaring out the back of a jet at 30,000 feet under starlight when the temperature at altitude was cold enough to give exposed skin frostbite in a matter of seconds. That, and Philippe hated flying.
The fall was brutal, the moisture-laden clouds coating Fox Squad’s plummeting members in a layer of ice. The clouds were unexpected, but as usual for weather around the Great Lakes, they showed up when they wanted to. Everyone silently prayed that the ice wouldn’t affect their chutes opening. Philippe was relieved when no one suffered any catastrophic equipment failures.
Snow-covered taiga meadows with occasional stands of pine trees rose up to meet them as wet flakes of snow followed them down to earth.
After landing, the experienced members of Fox Squad efficiently made their way across the wintry terrain towards their initial rendezvous. Once the squad linked up, they cached their jump equipment and broke out the snowshoes.
Philippe lamented that his command hadn’t been willing to commit vehicles. They told him it would leave too big of a signature and nobody could be certain that the attackers weren’t already watching the infill site. It’s going to be a long night, he groaned inwardly while strapping snowshoes over his boots.
As the squad geared up for their trek inland, Captain Tremblay gave him the ‘come here’ signal, stowing one of the two encrypted sat-phones the squad used. “Warrant Officer Leve. Have the squad hole up in those trees. We’ve been told to head back towards White River and wait. I need to give them the bad news,” Captain Tremblay ordered, rubbing the frozen stubble on his chin.
“Yes Captain. What are we waiting for, if I may ask?” Philippe asked diffidently. He knew everyone would hate moving back the two dozen clicks to the recently established command post. It was much closer to the town of White River than their actual target area. It also meant they’d have to cross those two dozen kilometers again, unless command changed their mind and flew them in or allowed vehicles. On the other hand, almost any hot food would be better than eating MREs after dropping through a frozen cloud and slogging through frigid conditions.
“There’s been another incident while we were in the air,” Captain Tremblay explained, his voice strained. “They attacked Rio during the Samba parade. There are several hundred civilian casualties, but the cameras recording the parade were right there. They’ve got it all. Command is setting up a secure data link so we can watch.”
Fuck me sideways. Now Rio. This is turning into a shit storm of global proportions. This latest attack meant the situation had just gone from a potential terrorist attack on American soil, to a potential alien invasion on two continents.
Philippe nodded at Captain Tremblay’s command. It made sense; the more information they had, the better. Though with one satellite antenna dedicated to data and in such miserable weather, it would take an excruciatingly long time to download. Hopefully, they could move while the computer finished.
“There’s something else,” Captain Tremblay added, massaging his hands for warmth or nerves; Philippe couldn’t tell. “Command told me they think the ship is headed this way. Right here, White River, although they won’t tell us why yet, just to be ready. The Americans are sending someone from Brazil to brief us. We’re to stay at the White River command post ‘til he arrives.”
“Jesus. Here? There’s nothing out here but pine trees,” Philippe responded with an NCO’s typical application of common sense. “Wait. They’re sending someone? They can’t pick up a phone?”
The captain just shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter.
Delta sat up with a start as his neural tech gave him a small jolt. Damn. I can’t sleep. He’d been ordered to watch over King Heinrich. That’s what I must do until I hear otherwise. He’d hoped that an unnatural sitting position meant he’d stay alert. He surmised he had just closed his eyes for a moment.
He stood, stretching and trying to work out a kink in his back from the hard chair. Shifting his perceptions to the mental landscape, he skimmed for thoughts around him.
No one else was close by.
He sampled the emotional atmosphere like a wolf sniffing for scents on the breeze. The crew were still upset. 400 souls on board the vessel or near enough, even without the casualties from Prince Al Aziri’s mistake. Most of them were frustrated and the mindscape swirled with mustard yellow tones.
All of the crew were
working hard to get the ship back into fighting shape. Though Delta sensed in the case of the prince, it was unwilling work. Per Anna’s last instruction to him, Delta remained focused on the prince. Prince Ahmed and his men were the source of frustration among the remaining crew. The prince bristled at being used for menial labor. His Elites didn’t like it either, primarily because he took out his frustration on them. That emotional turbulence festered like a raw wound with the rest of the crew. They had figured out, or simply assumed what had occurred in Rio.
Was the prince a threat to the king? He acted more like a sulking, immature child from Delta’s perspective: a spoiled brat convinced of his own superiority because of his Gift. However, deep beneath that entitled exterior, he shared many of his father’s traits. He was determined and ruthless when he needed to be. But above all, he was ambitious.
He chafed under the Dragon’s rule, his discontent always close enough to the surface of his consciousness that Delta recognized it in a skim of his thoughts.
The prince hadn’t yet made the connection Delta had: that this world held another set of world keys. The countess barely left him time to think, and Delta knew it was deliberate on her part. The grueling labor kept the prince and his men off balance and working so he didn’t make the connection.
Delta couldn’t decide how the prince would act on such information. Would he take it as an opportunity to bring his father a prize valuable enough to stand above his many brothers? Or would he take the chance that this world might free him of his father’s yoke, with King Heinrich the obstacle in his way? It was too early to tell and Delta’s instructions were clear. One of those pathways meant he’d kill the prince or die trying.
“Thalia?” Delta whispered.
“Yes, Mr. Delta?” the AI responded, wavering into existence beside the chair.
“How goes your efforts to connect into these satellites you spoke of?”
“Surprisingly difficult. They use sophisticated encryption methodologies with which I am unfamiliar. I have been able to access their signals, it’s simple machine code language transmitted at rapid speed, but I’ve yet to discover a way to interrupt that signal.” The avatar of the AI frowned. “I must also remain cautious when moving around this internet they have here. For some reason, it’s littered with some very malicious code. It doesn’t seem to interact with my core, but has attempted to rewrite items in my storage areas. Its existence is—strange.”
“Well, I’m finding it hard to keep alert. Please holograph me some of what we were working on before. Maybe some reading will help.”
“Certainly, Mr. Delta,” Thalia responded, bowing out of existence as the virtual window opened in front of him. He sat again, glancing towards the sleeping king. How much longer will he sleep? he wondered. He sighed raspily before turning his attention to the open three-dimensional display and leaning forward to interact.
Before he could start, the door chimed. Delta scanned his surroundings quickly through the mindscape. Outside the door stood the king’s adjutant, Ernst—the one who spoke with a heavy German accent.
Thalia materialized next to the holographic display and Delta was surprised to see her in a different form. She usually maintained the Grecian muse-look. Dark, heavy ringlets and brown eyes. Instead she appeared looking more like a Teutonic version of herself, with lighter hair and a slightly narrower face.
“Mr. Delta, it’s Ernst to see you, I requested he bring you some coffee and nourishment due to your time away from the crew. You haven’t eaten anything in seven hours and thirty-eight minutes. May I let him enter?”
Delta gave his assent and the door dilated open, revealing the robust adjutant carrying a tray. Ernst bustled inside, laying the tray on the ornate coffee table. He began pouring coffee and pulling the covers away from the hot porridge and cold meats. Meanwhile Delta wondered at Thalia’s change in appearance.
“Milk and sugar, Herr?” asked Ernst in a voice so full of propriety it would shame most Entitled.
Delta nodded his assent to both, leaning forward to engage the display Thalia created for him as the manservant fussed about. He opened a small chat window so he could interface directly with the AI without speaking aloud.
D: Thalia. Why did you change your appearance?
T: Ernst Jung does not like to see me in that form. I take that appearance at the king’s request.
D: Why does Mr. Jung not like your regular appearance?
T: It reminds him too much of his sister.
A puzzle. As the servant handed Delta the steaming cup, he nodded politely and took the opportunity to dig a little deeper than usual into the attendant.
Delving into someone else’s mind, particularly if the subject was aware, was a tricky art. No matter the power or skill of the Gifted, they had to subsume all sense of self to slide beneath the unconscious mental barriers that people erected. The deeper the memory, the more the Gifted needed to lose themselves in order to remain undetected.
A sense of the man’s personality shone through Delta’s delving. Before him was a disciplined man, outwardly sporting a military presentation and proper bearing. Inwardly, the sense of rightness about routine and regimen dominated the man’s thoughts. And he had a caring side. There was a faint sense of loss in his past. A stoic sadness that had just made him stronger. For a man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, his was an old soul, the depth of his memories significant.
Delta remembered the one other time he’d encountered that feature, in a servant of Queen Ilya’s. A person who had received the boon of regression. The turning back of age, to give the recipient their youth and vigor once more. Such a gift to someone not a Royal or high nobility was rare indeed. There was more to this man than met the eye. Even an eye so practiced as my own. Is he a threat to the king? Bother, I have to find out.
As the man picked up his tray and made to leave, Delta spoke.
“Please. Stay. Some conversation would be welcome.” The king’s adjutant bowed stiffly and correctly, remaining silent until Delta spoke to him.
“Have you served King Heinrich long?”
“Ja, we know one another for a long time,” came the reply, with additional stiffness of the back and shoulders.
Interesting. The man’s thoughts seemed to center around a woman who appeared to be the model for Thalia’s regular appearance. This sister the AI spoke of? Flitting memories and an emotional cloud accompanied the image.
“I am curious about something,” Delta said, gesturing towards the form of Thalia. “Why does the AI change her appearance for you?”
“It is personal, Herr.”
“I understand.” Delta reached up and removed his mask, blowing on the coffee and maintaining the delve to read his reaction. Surprise: memories of injuries and war. Oh. Nestled in among the other thoughts were images of a town. One that no longer existed, destroyed during the Monarch War. This man is as old as the king.
Delta took a sip, nodding his appreciation. “Countess Anna commanded me to guard King Heinrich. I ask because it is my duty. Few people have the authority to enter this room. You are one.”
“I served the könig during the war,” came the reply.
“It’s more than that.”
“You are perceptive.”
Delta shrugged in response. “I am useful to King Barrett because of that perception.”
Ernst gave a short nod of his head. “I fight during Monarch War. I help Heinrich during a difficult time in his life, after the loss of his wife and children. I was rewarded. Given the Gift by Königin Ilya. I choose to stay and continue service.”
A complicated wave of emotional colors revealed themselves in the delve that he’d have to sort through later. Emotion was always difficult for Delta to interpret. Slight variations in color could change meanings.
“Did you know the king before the war?” Delta took another sip of the splendid coffee.
“Ja. He was different man then. Better man. The krieg, so much death
changed him until—” Ernst stopped himself and in the delve Delta saw the face worn by Thalia once again, arm in arm with King Heinrich, who was smiling. His sister healed the King? An emotional savior after the Monarch War.
So faint it almost wasn’t there, Delta received the image of Countess Anna and a wisp of emotion he interpreted as wistful hope. What is he doing? There’s a connection between him and Countess Anna, although I haven’t seen this man in her thoughts. He wants Countess Anna to take her place, but I’m not sensing any danger. He wants to help the king.
Taking a deep breath, Ernst nodded respectfully to Delta. “If that is all, Herr, I have duties.”
Delta finished the cup of coffee and thanked the man, staring at his back as he left the room. Interesting man, but no threat to the king, he thought to himself before returning to the holographic display.
Two-and-a-half hours of slogging through icy terrain and Fox Squad took a rest stop at the halfway point to the White River mobile command center. Fox Squad broke out rations and set a small watch element, the rest of them gathered around the dim military laptop screen. They took turns wiping snow off the screen as the video progressed. Rivulets of melting water marred the images somewhat, but not so much that it prevented them seeing the spread of the carnage.
While there were only a few grainy videos showing the aftermath of the attack on the US air force base in Florida, the footage of the carnival in Rio were eerily and viscerally real. High def television cameras caught the cloud of lights overhead as the alien ship materialized.
It was as if a Hollywood director had decided to use real weapons instead of special effects when shooting their next summer blockbuster. The voice of Major Coombs came to life over a chat channel set up during the download. He had apparently relocated to the White River command center along with several other staffers.
“You should have access to the video now. Just letting you know, the media can’t get enough of it. It’s playing non-stop on every channel in the world right now. Accusations towards this being a government or terrorist activity have stopped. Civilians are really thinking alien invasion now. So, here’s what we know. Four hours ago there was another attack in Brazil.” The major’s voice was somber. “An aircraft, possibly the same one that attacked Florida, staged another assault. This time on a civilian target. They …” Major Coombs’s voice fell away for a moment before continuing. “They bombarded a section of the crowd during one of the carnival parades, causing significant loss of civilian life.”
Suffrage (World Key Chronicles Book 1) Page 12
