“Bad idea.” Verdigris sighed. “First of all…you’ve never seen the Seraphym all-out. I have.” He’d been collecting eyewitness accounts and video capture ever since she “visited” him. “She’s a Four, General. For all I know, she’s a Five. Never mind that delusion that she’s an angel; in everything else she’s as sane as they come, and she has pretty much held back on what she can do.” He thought of the footage he’d seen of her taking on not one Death Machine, single-handed, but a full dozen of them. It had taken her no time at all. That one hadn’t made the news. He’d quietly bought the footage and the rights, so he could study it. He still didn’t know why she chose particular incidents to handle, but it was pretty clear that if she decided that she needed to, she was definitely not something to cross. “She wants Belladonna Blue alive and in charge of ECHO. You make a move on her or the blue chick, and—” He made a little piff motion with his fingers. “You only got away the first time on a frontal attack because for whatever reason, the Seraphym didn’t feel like killing you. You wouldn’t stand the chance of an ant in a deep fryer.”
“I think you underestimate me as well.” Fei Li shrugged. “Nevertheless…ECHO is doing us a favor, weakening our greater enemy, and we should allow them to do so unmolested, I suppose.”
Verdigris couldn’t help but acknowledge the wisdom in that. But his pride had been stung at the loss of ECHO and the public disgrace that he had suffered because of it and the allegations that had been levied against him. Bella Dawn Parker would live…for the moment. One thing that Verdigris never did was to forget to whom he owed debts, however.
All in time.
* * *
Natalya watched through her old-fashioned binoculars as ECHO One ripped through the remaining Nazi Troopers. For all the witch’s magic, she still couldn’t give a good distance view of the battlefield that wasn’t through a camera, and you had to have a camera in place exactly where you wanted to look. For some reason, this gave Red Saviour a perverse feeling of satisfaction.
The ECHO troops moved fast, and they were well coordinated; the ECHO metahuman that was serving as their squad leader had dismounted from the race-car looking metahuman, firing his grenade launcher at a steady pace. A tactic that worked here that had not worked in city streets was to fire at their feet. The friable soil cratered, and they generally toppled over. That left them vulnerable.
With many assault rifles and multiple-grenade launchers, it was short work to take care of the already weakened Nazis. The odd meta that looked like a child’s “transforming” toy, Speed Fiend, performed a suicide slide, ripping through two weakened troopers under his metal treads. In cover at the ridge behind the skirmish, Saviour had positioned several two-man rocket teams. Armed with Stinger missiles and AT4 launchers, they fired barrages of rockets at any troublesome Nazis. Her heart warmed at the sight of the carnage that the explosions wrought, with her mind flitting back to the massacre at Saviour’s Gate. Each Nazi killed gave her joy. This is right. This is how true Soviets fight, crush the enemy, and no quarter given.
One of the metahumans, one that she didn’t immediately recognize, fabricated a glowing “chain” of energy; it lazily looped itself around three of the armored troopers, drawing them tight together. Immobile, the Nazis were an easy target for the rocket teams and the rest of ECHO One.
When the last Thulian trooper was killed, the squad began to set up defensive positions. They were hasty, and made to be retreated from quickly. Now, we wait. Now they know we are serious opponents, and the real battle begins.
She amped up the magnification on her binoculars, shifting her view to the entrance of the Thulian Headquarters. The force that exited was much larger, much better organized. Hundreds of troopers, dozens of their floating Death Machines. “ECHO One, being stick to the plan. Disengage after initial contact, being sure to stick to primary retreat vectors. How copying?” There had been opposition to Saviour as the battlefield leader. The US Military had wanted one of their generals. Nat had wanted to point out how poorly the US Military had been doing against the Kriegers, but fortunately, all of ECHO had risen up and let it be known that it would be someone who had actually won engagements with the enemy, or no one, and the US Military could go against the target without metahuman help.
“Reading you five by five, Red Leader. Can’t see for the dust here. What’s the vector?”
“Is being your 6 o’clock and closing.” Saviour noted with satisfaction that he didn’t waste breath in answering; the Kriegers were rapidly closing within firing range for the missiles and grenades.
“Commencing fire on your mark, Red Leader.”
She waited until they were just at the edge. This was meant to sting, not be a serious threat. “Now. Slap faces.”
A withering, but short, volley of fire issued from ECHO One’s position. Several Nazis went down; not enough to force them to take up a defensive posture, but enough to let them know that the good guys were still there. Let their fascist arrogance take the better of them. And that it did. The remaining Nazis charged forward, powered legs thrusting against the rough terrain at frightening speed. ECHO One immediately disengaged; they didn’t bother to move in bounds with cover fire. The Nazis were still out of range to use their energy cannons. As frighteningly powerful as those cannons were, they were not precision weapons. Terror and intimidation was the name of the game of the Thulians; get in close and count on their nigh invulnerable armor to keep them safe as they mowed down nearly defenseless foes. No longer; we are not sheep, but wolves. And we have very long teeth.
“All positions, be ready.” There was, as Pavel liked to say, going to be a “great Dixie fry.”
* * *
The screens of the death machine had a selective binocular plate; it was weird and awkward to use, almost to the point of necessitating a third arm, but it worked well enough once you got the hang of it. John and Bulwark watched from the two forward-facing seats. They saw the Thulians rush out to engage ECHO One, saw the metahumans pull back into the valley; John noted that Speed Fiend was among them. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, however. Just as the Thulians had the whole of their initial force in the valley, three flights of “fast-movers,” super-sonic jets, ripped through the sky and loosed their payloads in the kind of maneuver called an “Arc Light.” Huge columns of fire shot out across the ground, incinerating or weakening the Nazi Troopers. Fire, extreme or prolonged heat made them vulnerable; they were getting their fair share, and then some.
“All right,” Bulwark squared himself in his seat, placing his arms in the piloting sleeves. “That’s our cue.” The death machine lurched forward, almost stuttering along. Beads of sweat stood out on Bulwark’s forehead as he concentrated; he made an adjustment to one of the many pedals located in front of his seat. The steering straightened out, and John almost wouldn’t have known they were moving forward if it weren’t for the scenery flashing past through the viewport.
“Roger Infil. You’re Go, everything’s green by the timetable. Take her in.”
They’d been over the terrain until they probably could have walked in blindfolded. The route was set. Vickie was only monitoring for this part of the trip to keep them updated on what was going on down with the fight if it was going to impact them, and warn them of anything unexpected. One of her little spy-eyes was glued to the top of the Thulian Orb, so she didn’t have to depend on the Orb’s optics.
John watched the second wave of Thulians spilling out of the base. There were most certainly more of them; death machines, troopers, and those weird mechanical eagles. Part of him wondered how many more were in there. The sphere lurched into the air, wobbling towards the entrance. This wasn’t due to Bulwark’s piloting; this was to simulate damage, to give them a reason for returning to the base. The sphere lurched drunkenly towards the entrance. This made for a miserable ride inside. When they were close to seven hundred yards away, Vickie cut into the channel again. “Infil halt halt halt. Angel Flight and T-bird incoming. Steel
Rain.” The death machine grudgingly obeyed the commands. Moments later, John saw the ground vibrate as the Blue Angels, flying low and way-too-fast-too-close, went over their heads. They pulled up, clearing the mountain headquarters by a good margin; a split-second later, dozens of small explosions rocked the massed Thulian forces at the entrance. Thousands of bomblets and mission-specific munitions dropped, turning some—but not damned enough, by John’s estimation—of the troopers into twisted metal and smoldering corpses.
“Heads up, broken eagle, three o’clock, on an intersect.” There was probably something like radar in this thing, but if so, no one had figured out how to use it. Bulwark halted their forward progress, and a wing-crumpled eagle plowed into the ground ahead of them. “Put some juice in it, Bull, things are heating up out here, and you’re gonna wind up as part of the collateral damage.” Bulwark said nothing in reply, but when the sphere got moving again, it was going a lot quicker. Bulwark bounced it along the ground as part of their ruse, and every bounce made the occupants’ teeth rattle.
“Remind me never to let you park my car.”
“Thank you, Operative Nagy.”
“Keep sharp, people. Hug right.” They were at the entrance now, and hugged one side while fresh troops streamed out. No one seemed to notice them.
“They’re hailing you, I have it covered. Hug the right. See anything like a set of docking bays? Take the third one.”
Moving slower, Bulwark glided in. Clamps settled onto the hull. Bulwark and Djinni inserted their hands into two more pairs of sleeves and waited. A few Thulians dashed towards the sphere, but before they could reach it, Vickie gave the signal.
“They’re coming to get you out. Light ’em up.”
Moving their hands wildly in the sleeves, as if all the weapons had malfunctioned at once, Bulwark and Djinni hosed down the interior of what must be a hanger. The Thulian screams were so intense they bled over Vickie’s freq onto theirs. Gouts of white-hot thermite and nitro-napalm scoured the entire interior hangar. Blasts of orange energy scored the walls, ceiling and floor, blasting docking clamps and equipment into vapor.
“Clear.”
John was the first one to unbuckle his safety restraints. “Time to dismount.” Matai slapped a square orange panel; what had looked like a seamless section of plating separated, irising to become an exit hatch. It was a long way down to the floor. The two infiltration teams had practiced jumping from the craft until their execution was perfect; it only took a few moments for everyone to land on the floor and take a defensive position for their assigned sector. John pulled two of Vickie’s “eyes” out of a belt pouch and tossed them up. They vanished.
Her voice sounded calm and steady. “Rock and roll, troops.”
* * *
Bella was glued to the multiple feeds from Vickie’s station. She couldn’t even imagine how Vic was coordinating it all. She was practically on fire with the need to be there herself…except she couldn’t. She was head of ECHO, not to be risked. If she’d been there, chances were that Verdigris would have somehow managed to find a way to drop one of the “Hammers” on her head. Or had one of the other weapons reprogrammed to target her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have people almost as good at hacking as Vickie—and he had probably set up plenty of backdoors when he was all cozy with the US Military. Or—well, there was a lot he could do, and there was also no way of telling whether or not he still had another mole or ten in their ranks. There was a damned good reason why the Seraphym was hovering just outside her window, and it had nothing to do with providing a little more ambient light in the office.
She knew all this.
It didn’t help.
* * *
John used hand signals, drawing his team in. Untermensch, Soviet Bear, and Mamona took position behind him. He caught Bulwark doing the same in his peripheral vision. Motu, Matai, Silent Knight, and Red Djinni filed in behind their team leader with practiced precision. John reached down to his belt, flicking a rocker switch on a control unit. His subvocal mics kicked in, allowing him to “talk,” if you could call it that, without actually making any sound. His voice came over the comms, but seemed flat in a way. “Team two, moving out.”
“Team one, moving.”
John’s team was tasked with taking out the key areas in the Thulian HQ. The trick was, they had to do it without alerting the entire base that there were intruders doing all sorts of naughty things in their midst. They all crept along, almost perfectly silent, with their rifles trained on their sectors of responsibility. John knew they would have to sacrifice some of their stealth, and soon; the longer they took, the more people would die on the surface. Somewhere just ahead of them, Vickie’s “eye” flew, invisible, scouting for them.
With a flick of his head, he keyed over to Vic’s frequency, patching it into his team’s comms. “We’re at the hangar exit into the main base. Which way are we headed, and what’s the opposition look like beyond this door?” Talking without saying anything was another of the high-tech things that weirded John out; it didn’t discount the obvious tactical advantages, which he may well have killed for when he was still a part of a recognized military.
“Clear at the door. Left, left, right, left. After the fourth corner, you hit a main drag and it’s full of troopers.”
“Number? What’s their disposition?”
“I count six positive, with a possible seventh. Can’t get the eye past them without a chance they’ll pick it up. Static positions. I’ll scoot this eye down the other way to make sure you don’t get a patrol on your tail.” Static positions meant they were either a guard post, or had otherwise been in the same general area for a minute and a half.
“Roger. Moving.” He motioned for the team to follow. The floors and the walls of the Thulian HQ seemed to be made of the same slick looking metal that their trooper armor and death machines were. John felt his disgust for the Nazi material welling up in him, and used the emotional capital. His team transversed the distance quickly, stacking up at the intersection with the main drag. John opened a pouch and pulled out one of his personal magic eyes that Vic had given him, dropping it to the floor. It rolled into the middle, invisible, yet patching in a full view of the hallway into his HUD.
“I believe that is the Welcome Wagon.” Vic could see everything that he could see, through his HUD implant and, of course, the magic eyes. “Nothing coming up on your 6 o’clock.”
Unfortunately, Vic was right; six Thulians. Three were part of a check-point guard position, while the other three looked to be technicians of some sort, working on a sparking panel. Looks like the kinetic bombardment did a little more damage than we thought. Good. Every Nazi was armed. John signaled for Mamona to come up to the front; she tapped Bear’s shoulder, and the Russian automatically took up a rear-guard position. She looked to John, and he nodded to her. Mamona slung her rifle, bending down to kneel. Her brow screwed up in concentration, and she brought her gloved hands to her chest.
John saw the effect of what she was doing through his magic-eye camera. The closest Thulians, which included all of the technicians and two of the guards, completely froze in place. The last guard began to retch and heave violently, bile and vomit spilling to the floor.
“Go.” John was the first around the corner, with Untermensch following close behind. Their rifles barked quietly, suppressed rounds stitching through the Thulians. In less than two seconds, all of the Nazis were dead. “Vic, any chatter?”
“So far internal freqs are full of nothing to concern you.” How Vickie was patching into Thulian comm frequencies, he had no idea. Probably more of her magic stuff. “A lot of general quarters palaver and emergency repairs on their internals, a lot of screaming and dying and attack orders on their externals.”
“Roger. Let the bastards burn. What’s Gamayun an’ the scopes say ’bout where to head from here?”
“Halt, halt, halt.” There was a pause. It was long enough that she was probably talking to someone else. Gamayun, mo
st likely. Gamayun was creating a map as they moved, staying a little ahead of them, using her own curious power of remote viewing. Unfortunately she couldn’t “see” anything much further away from her own location than five miles. Needless to say, she was the best protected person on the battlefield today. “Ahead 500 yards. Right, right, ahead another 500. Down stairs on right. Stairs are clear. Stand by for change.”
The team proceeded. Vic warned them when to slow up, when to take cover to avoid a group of running Thulians, when to charge ahead. It went much faster than if they’d been going in without her near-omniscient overwatch. It took a lot of energy to travel silently, though; John was feeling it when they reached their first destination; the main armory for the entire Thulian North American HQ. John floated his personal magic eye into the room; he saw rows and rows of evil looking rifles, pistols, and crates of munitions. It was all housed behind some sort of clear door; it looked thick, and hardy. There were four Thulians in the room, all looking very nervous. The corridor floor here was polished stone, not metal, probably to prevent accidental electrical discharge into the munitions. Perfect for Vickie.
“You have two minutes. Patrol just came through. You’ll have to take out the next one. And…mark.” The HUD lit up with a countdown clock in the upper right hand quadrant of each teammate’s vision. “I love my job. When all this is over, you guys are stealth-returning all my overdue DVDs.”
John used a control on his belt to tilt his magic eye up and to the left. “Vic, question. I’m seeing what looks like fire suppression systems in this room. Can ya trigger ’em without alerting the rest of the base?”
“Good question. Watch for the patrol, let me noodle on it a second. Unter? Bare hand on floor please?” The Russian complied; he was the only team member with bare—though impossibly resilient—hands, discounting Bear, whose hands were titanium. It didn’t take her very long. “Some of that shite is unstable as hell. If I give it a bounce, it’ll go off with a little fireball and that’ll set off the suppression.”
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 61
