by Jay Allan
He was doomed if he remained with the army, he was sure of that. He had to decide—now—if he was going to accept his fate, stay in his headquarters and wait for the axe to fall, or if he was going to make a run for it, try to escape, hide…survive somehow.
The guards at least, he knew, would do whatever he told them. They were men who’d served under him for a many years. He’d appointed them almost immediately after he’d been promoted. He’d seen enough betrayal in his years of service, officers done in by hostile operatives in their inner circles.
“Freeze!” One of the forward guards snapped out the command, whipping around and pointing his rifle off to the side. “Don’t move,” he added.
Akawa accelerated his pace, walking up right behind the two guards. “What is it, Sergeant?” But even before he finished the question, his eyes dropped to the man leaning against a tree about two meters away.
“Who are you?” Akawa asked, as one of the guards stepped up cautiously and picked up a pistol that was lying on the ground next to the man.
The wounded soldier looked up, moving slowly. Akawa saw the man’s leg. It was a twisted mess, bent at a grotesque angle, with a sliver of bone sticking out. There were strips of broken branches and some scraps of cloth…he had obviously been trying, unsuccessfully, to make some kind of brace that would allow him to walk. Akawa also saw the uniform. It was a little different than the others he’d seen, but it was definitely AOL. He looked around, but there was no one else, nothing but a heavy burning smell…and a few wisps of smoke coming from just over a small hill.
A pilot. A downed gunship…
“I am Colonel John MacArthur, Army of Liberation.” The man’s voice was wracked with pain, but there was defiance there too. He stared back at Akawa.
“Your airship crashed?” Akawa’s tone was calm, friendly. He had an idea forming in his head, and this wounded officer might play a key role.
“Yes,” MacArthur replied, offering no details.
Akawa stepped closer and leaned down next to MacArthur, waving off the guards when they reacted. “I want to talk with you about something.”
MacArthur was clearly in pain, and just as obviously trying to hide it. “If you think I am going to give you any information, you’re crazy.”
“Colonel, I assure you I mean you no harm. And my questions have nothing to do with your army’s plans or deployments.”
MacArthur turned his head slowly, looking right at Akawa. “Then what do you want?”
“I want to know if it is true.” Akawa asked after a short pause, staring down at the wounded officer as he did. “Did your army really kill the soldiers who refused to join you?”
MacArthur looked up at the UNGov general. “No,” he snapped back, his outrage overriding his pain for a moment. “I don’t know what kind of sick mind thought up that lie, but that is why we are here. Because mankind is ruled by psychopathic monsters.” He leaned back and took a deep, ragged breath. Then he looked back at Akawa, his stare burning with defiance. “We were long gone from those worlds before that atrocity took place.”
Akawa thought quietly for a few seconds. Then he said, “I believe you, Colonel. I’m not sure why, but I do.”
MacArthur just stared back, saying nothing.
“Why are you here?” Akawa asked bluntly.
“My airship crashed.”
“No…why are you here. All of you. Your army. What is the true reason for your invasion of Earth?”
“We are here to destroy UNGov.”
“Yes, I understand that. But why?”
“Isn’t that obvious? Because it’s an oppressive government. Because it has stolen freedom from the people.”
Akawa nodded. “Yes, yes…that may all be true. But there is something else. Isn’t there?”
MacArthur hesitated, his apprehensive frown giving way to a bewildered look. “Do you really want to know that? You may not like it very much.”
“Yes,” Akawa said. “I want to know.”
MacArthur pulled himself up straighter, grunting from the pain as he did. Then he stared right at Akawa and told him why the AOL had come to Earth. The colonial massacres, the great lie behind the war, the fact that the Tegeri were not hostile to mankind…everything.
Akawa just stared back without a word, trying to process all he had heard. He’d suspected there was more to the AOL than a group of murderous traitors, but he found himself in stunned amazement at the story he’d just heard. And even more shocking, he found he believed it. Every word.
“Colonel,” he finally said. “I wish to meet with your General Taylor.”
MacArthur shook his head. “If you think I’m going to help you find General Taylor, you’re…”
“Just take me to your forces. I surrender to you, Colonel. I am General Jinto Akawa, commander-in-chief of UNGov forces, and I request a meeting with General Taylor.”
Chapter 21
Captain Wickes to Devon Bell:
I think it’s time you send UNGov your resignation, Dev.
“I wish we had more time to plan this, Captain. Devon Bell was pulling up a pair of suit pants as he spoke. He’d cast aside the filthy rags he’d worn through the last thirty-six hours of non-stop action, and he was trying to make himself look remotely professional. He leaned his head down toward his armpit and took a sniff. “I hope they just take a quick look and don’t smell.” He looked nervous. No, not nervous…scared to death. But there was something else there too, a determination to overcome his fears, to get the job done, whatever the risk.
“I wish we had more time to plan too, Devon. But UNGov isn’t going to leave New York almost devoid of security personnel. They’ve probably got people on the way right now. Which means we don’t have time to waste. This is a fleeting opportunity. It’s now or never.” Wickes smiled, trying to help boost his friend’s confidence. “And you smell fine. Like a spring morning.” He reached up, patting down the side of Bell’s head, trying to force down a particularly wild tuft of hair.
Bell frowned and nodded, licking his hand and trying to coax some cooperation from the matted rat’s nest on his head. He didn’t need to look great, just normal enough not to draw attention to himself while he disabled the building’s security system.
Wickes looked across the street at the structure, the main broadcast center for North America. The light from its lobby glowed softly in the predawn darkness. The Resistance had long dreamed of gaining even temporary control of the structure and broadcasting their message live across the entire continent. They’d planned it a dozen times, but it had never been remotely feasible. Not until now. The casualties the UNGov forces had suffered, both in the bombings and the attack by Captain Charles and his gunship, had created a window of opportunity. Wickes doubted there were more than fifty security troopers left in all of Manhattan. They’d already been understrength, half their numbers detached for military training…and probably sent right to the front facing Taylor’s army.
There would still be some fighting to do, he knew…the center had its own security force, and whatever field command was still operating would send every trooper they could when they got word the broadcast facility had been compromised.. But Wickes had called out every member of the Resistance who was still alive. He had over a hundred of them gathered, a force he could never had assembled in one place before, not without UNGov security catching wind of it. But the streets were almost devoid of patrols. For once, the rebels would have numbers. It would be the government forces who were hemmed in, outnumbered, hunted down to the last man. It wouldn’t last, but on some level, Wickes was drawing considerable satisfaction from it.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Dev?” he said as he watched Bell shove his arm into the suit jacket. It wasn’t a great fit, a little tight and at least two centimeters short in the sleeves, but it was all they could find on short notice. They couldn’t take the risk of Bell returning to his home in the Gated Zone to get one of his own suits. Wickes suspected that pr
otecting the enclave where the UNGov personnel and upper classes lived would be a priority for the remaining security, which meant it was the last place he was going to send anyone.
“No, Captain. I’m not sure. But I’m going to do it anyway.” He forced a smile of sorts. “Just make damned sure you’re all ready. We won’t get this chance again.”
“We’ll be there, Dev. Don’t you worry about it.”
Bell nodded.
Wickes watched as Bell stared across the street, at the thick glass front of the broadcast center. He knew just what he was asking of his comrade. Bell was a loyal rebel, he didn’t doubt that, despite his comrade’s position within UNGov. But it was one thing to attend meetings, even to fight in the streets as he had. But once he used his ID to help the rebels gain access to the high-security building, he would be sending a message right to Geneva. I am part of the Resistance. His life as he knew it would be over. He could never return to his apartment. He would leave all his possessions behind. Everything. He would have to hide, and when UNGov forces arrived to retake control of the city, he would have to flee, leave his comfortable life to survive as a fugitive, one of the most hunted men in North America.
Bell turned his head and nodded, pausing as Rod Charles stepped forward, out of the shadows. “I want to thank you again and let you know we’ve got your back on this. Two of my men are in the gunship, and they’ll hit the satellite dish as soon as you’re inside. That’ll cut the facility off completely from Geneva…but it will also let UNGov know that something is happening. Then the timeclock will really start.”
Bell nodded. He looked like he might throw up, but he was holding it together.
“And don’t worry about after,” Charles said. “You’ll come with us…we’ll get you out of the city. I’ve sent a signal to our other groups in North America. With any luck, we’ll have half a dozen Dragonfires here by the time UNGov gets reserves to New York in any force.”
“Thank you, Captain Charles,” Bell said, struggling to sound as confident as he could.
“No, thank you,” Charles replied. We thought we’d be hunting through the streets, trying to find relatives, old friends, one at a time. But this will give us a chance to address millions, to challenge UNGov’s lies in a meaningful way.” He paused. “If we can pull it off, it will be a massive blow toward victory.”
Wickes had been standing, shifting his gaze, watching his comrade and then staring across the street. Finally, he said, “Okay, Dev…it’s time.”
Bell nodded. He moved his hands down his body, brushing some of the wrinkles from his suit. Then he took a deep breath and walked out into the street. He looked up and down the quiet avenue. It was deserted. He moved across, trying to look calm, relaxed as he walked toward the building.
Bell stepped up to the door, standing in a small lighted vestibule. “Identify,” the building AI’s voice said sternly. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out his ID card. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. For two years he had been part of the Resistance, but he’d kept that secret, hidden, living his normal life all the time. But once he swiped his card that was all over. He had no legitimate reason to be here. Regardless of what happened in the hours to come, he knew UNGov’s investigations would expose his involvement. Then he would truly be a fugitive. He would spend the rest of his life running, hiding. Or he would die in some Inquisitor’s interrogation room.
He stood another few seconds, gathering himself, marshaling his courage.
“Identify,” the machine repeated.
He reached out and swiped the card down the reader. Then he waited, a few seconds that seemed like hours, to see if the security system gave him access.
There was a soft click, and the door slid open. He felt a rush of relief, and a wave of fresh stress too. The uncertainty was gone, at least. Until he’d swiped his card, some part of his mind had known he could always change his mind, run and not go through with it. But now he was committed. There was no turning back, and in a way, though he was terrified, that made it easier.
He walked into the marble-floored lobby. There were normally half a dozen guards on duty, but now there was just one sitting at the main desk.
“Good evening, Mr. Bell,” the guard said, his eyes darting down to the screen on his desk. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I am here to correct a malfunction on the main network encryption,” Bell said, trying as hard as he could to sound calm.
The guard looked down at his screen again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bell, I don’t have anything on my schedule.” He looked up. “Most likely it’s just an oversight…with all that’s happened tonight that wouldn’t be much of a surprise. But I’ll have to call it in. If you’ll just step into the scanner, I’ll send a message to central control to confirm.”
Bell nodded. “Thank you.” He felt the excitement flowing through his body. It was time…he had to make his move. He couldn’t step into the scanner. The pistol under his suit jacket would set off the alarm immediately. And he couldn’t allow the guard to send a message either. His comrades needed as much time as they could get before whatever remained of UNGov forces in New York knew what was happening.
“Oh,” he said, turning toward the guard, “there is one other thing…” He slipped his hand inside his jacket, pulling the pistol out and firing in one quick motion.
The shot took the stunned guard in the neck. He held himself up for a few seconds, staring back in shock as blood poured from his wound. Then he fell hard to the ground.
Bell recoiled for an instant. The guard had been a UNGov security trooper, which probably meant he had done some nasty things in his career, but he’d seemed so normal, so polite.
And I killed him…
Bell struggled to remember everything. Two shots. That’s what Wickes had told him. Two shots…make sure he’s dead. He moved around the desk and looked down at the guard. He was still moving, his hands on his throat, pawing at the terrible wound. Bell looked down, trying to force back the pity he felt, the guilt. You have a job to do, he told himself.
He raised his arm, aiming the pistol again. He could see the fear in the dying man’s expression, his victim’s eyes beseeching him for mercy. But he knew his duty was to his comrades. They were counting on him. And they weren’t going to defeat UNGov without killing anyone.
Liberty must be bought with blood…
He pulled the trigger, shooting the guard right in the forehead. The man fell silent, still. Dead.
He felt sick to his stomach, but he ignored it. His comrades were counting on him. He ran back to the guard’s workstation, his fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. He disabled the camera feed and scragged the last few minutes of coverage. If someone was watching live, he’d be screwed, but he knew that was unlikely. It wasn’t standard practice at 5am in any situation, and he knew UNGov in New York was stretched desperately thin. It was extremely unlikely they had anyone to spare staring at video footage.
He continued punching keys, and an instant later the door popped open. A few seconds after that, Wickes slipped inside, followed by the others. In a minute there were two dozen Resistance fighters standing in the lobby of UNGov’s media center. Now they just had to secure the rest of the building…and get on the air before the offsite security forces realized what was happening and cut power to the building.
“Alright,” Wickes said looking at the small crowd around him. “Dev got us in, but now it’s up to everybody to do their jobs. Stone, Fournier, Giles…get set up down here. Nobody gets in this building, understood?”
The three men nodded.
Wickes looked over at Bell. “Dev, you got the door sealed?”
“Got it, Cap.” The former UNGov cryptologist looked up and nodded. Security cams are out, all exterior doors locked, with all security overrides canceled. Whoever wants to get in here is going to have to blast their way in.”
“Which they will do, eventually. But hopefully we’ll be done by then.”
“The rest of you, let’s go. The elevators are too dangerous…we don’t want to get caught in there by whatever security is still active in here. So, we’ve got some stairs to climb.”
He ran to the wall, opening the solid metal fire door. Wickes was seventy years old, and his comrades in the Resistance knew him as an old man. But the action of the last few days had invigorated him, awakened a spirit that had long lain dormant. He ran up the stairs, waving one arm for the others to follow…and holding his assault rifle in the other.
The main broadcast center was on the thirty-sixth floor. Wickes bounded up the first ten flights, but then he slowed his pace, looking behind him as he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Dev Bell and Rod Charles had kept up with him. Carson Jones was just behind them with a few of the others. And the rest were strung out over half a dozen floors.
Wickes stood for perhaps a minute then he started up the stairs again…just as the door above swung open and UNGov security troopers came pouring into the stairwell firing.
* * *
Bill Reed rushed down the stairs, firing his assault rifle on full auto. He had four of his men behind him, the entire security contingent for the media center. He was scared to death, but he’d been ordered in no uncertain terms by his commander to stop the rebels, whatever the cost. His choice was clear…wipe out the Resistance fighters and receive a promotion and be showered with rewards. Or fail to do so and, if he somehow survived the defeat, enjoy a one way trip to a reeducation camp. He was scared to fight it out with the Resistance fighters, but his fear of UNGov was greater. He’d seen what happened to those who challenged its power.
