Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC
Page 63
She panned the cameras, looking for the nearest person she had a packet for. It happened to be someone who was already flat on the field, bleeding into the soil. Good enough. “Grey, I need Gavotte.”
Got. Grey plugged in another packet. She flew a stealthed ball over to the thing and set it down on the top and hoped they wouldn’t notice. It had been forty five seconds since the hanger door opened. “Command, Open, Hammer Freq, command, Ping Hammer.”
She spared a glance for the Angel Flight countdown and cursed. They were too close for an abort, but she warned them anyway. “Angels, Birds, Danger. Big Bad Bogie on the ground.”
The response from Space Command came gratifyingly quickly. “Roger Overwatch? Got a sitch?”
She fed her cam to Air Force Space Command just as Angel Flight came over. A sheet of energy sliced out of the slit and started angling up to the sky, disintegrating everything on the way as the Thulians tried to target the fighters. She nearly sobbed with relief as they managed to pull straight up and out of range. The response from Space Command was unprintable.
The Orb rotated down again; the glow dimmed. Evidently this thing had a warm-up and cool-down. But a turret on the bottom popped out, and something like a dish scanned the field.
There was an ECHO meta—Cyber-something; he was a multiple-amputee, one of the ECHO Op2s pulled out of the wreckage after the Invasion, that had been fitted with a prototype prosthesis, some kind of powered armor. He was at the very outskirts of the fighting, taking on five Troopers by himself. The Orb’s dish centered on him, and a nearly invisible, sickly-yellow beam shot out from it, connecting with the meta’s back. Vickie recognized what had happened almost as soon as the beam connected; selective EMP weapon, the color must just have been ambient bleed-over into the visible. The armor pretty much froze in place; the meta’s head jerked around frantically, his body no longer moving at all. He didn’t have time to scream, being torn apart by several Thulian energy cannons in the next instant.
She swallowed down her nausea. Bastards. Focus, girl, focus. More people will die if you don’t. “I’m about to open the ground under them. I want you to hit them and keep hitting them until you run out of rocks.” She sent them the exact grid GPS coordinates she was getting from her little probe. She didn’t dare paint a laser dot on it; they might notice.
“Roger that.”
“Five from my mark, fire for effect. Mark.”
Absently she heard the countdown start. She took her hands off her controls and narrowed her concentration. This was going to take everything she had, and then some.
She gathered magical energy to her; from the earth, from her storage crystals, from the two circles, from herself. She muttered under her breath, an archaic Celtic chant she had learned from her mother, while in her mind, ever-changing strings of numbers, formulas, and diagrams glowed. But most of all, it was will, the will of an expertly trained mage, imposing itself on the world. Not just willpower; this was the ability to focus, in the way that a laser piercing a diamond is focused, and to hold that focus for as long as it took to get the job done. The energies gathered until she felt she would burst, trying to hold it all inside of herself. And as the count reached zero, she wrenched at the earth beneath the sphere.
It didn’t happen immediately; the earth groaned and shook, for she had never done anything this big before. Stationary cameras shook with the rumble of the localized earthquake, and in some places the combat ground to a halt as people fought for footing. Sweat streamed down her face; magic was like telekinesis in a way, it worked best on small things. Big things like this…it felt as if she was trying to tear the earth apart with her bare hands—
Now people had noticed the new sphere. The Thulians took heart from its appearance and renewed their already effective attacks, while her freqs hummed with curses in English and Russian and a few other languages. She ignored them all. This had to work.
The earth split with a groan and a rumble, in a crevasse big enough to swallow the sphere.
A fraction of a second later, the Hammer came down. Huge clouds of earth and rock shot up into the air from the first two strikes; the aiming system wasn’t perfect, and had a harder time with small moving objects. The third, however, hit the Orb directly.
It didn’t even dent it; a force-field flared around it, absorbing the damage.
But not all the kinetic energy. The Hammer pounded the sphere into the bottom of her crevasse.
She opened it again, deeper. Just in time for another Hammer.
And again. And again.
Her entire world narrowed to that spot of earth’s crust and the Orb being pounded into it, buried by the near strikes, pounded deeper by the direct ones. The entire area shook from the impacts; they were only using their intermediate projectiles, comparable to heavy artillery. Dust choked through the battlefield, cutting visibility down; she could still see muzzle flashes and energy cannons, and muted explosions. Sweat soaked her clothing, her hands clenched the arms of her chair and there was a roaring in her ears.
Again. And again.
Each time the Hammer fell, it drove the Orb deeper into the earth. Each time she opened the earth further, she felt strength pouring out of her. But she couldn’t, daren’t stop now.
She could hardly see, scarcely breathe, when faintly, through the roaring, she heard Space Command say “Hammer terminated. It’s burned out; we’re inoperative. Good luck, Overwatch. Space Command out.”
Using the very last of her strength, she brought the sides of the half-mile-deep hole crashing inward. Then she passed out.
* * *
Bella’s jaw dropped, as she watched the feed from the cams. How the hell is she—
Somehow, Vickie and Hammer were pounding that Mega-Orb into the ground like a tent-peg. She heard Space Command sign out; there was a last shaking that dropped some of the combatants to their knees, and a huge plume of dirt and dust erupted from the hole.
Before Bella could react, even to call Vickie, she heard a pounding on the bulletproof glass door to the balcony outside her office. She looked up; it was Sera, and she instantly knew that Vickie was down and needed them. She slapped the door control and vaulted over her desk, reaching the door just as it opened, Sera seized her in arms that were a hundred times stronger than they looked (if not more) and shot up into the sky in a plume of fire.
The angel flew like a missile; straight up, and straight down. They landed on the roof of the apartment building, and Bella wrenched open the access door and raced down the stairs four at a time. She already had Vickie’s keys in her hand, but the Seraphym, speeding behind her, gestured, and the door flew open just as she got there. So did the door to Vickie’s Overwatch room.
Take over for her. I will tend her. That was not Bella’s first instinct, but she obeyed the Seraphym without an argument, flinging herself into the chair. Things were already going south for the Infil teams.
* * *
ECHO One was well behind cover when Natalya gave the order. “Fire, sections one, two, three; fire, fire, fire.” The Nazis, being pressed with a large number of missiles and grenades, had taken up the only defensible cover positions from their direction of approach. With the planning that had gone on prior to this operation, the Commissar had seen to it that every spot was properly “accommodating” for the fascista. Claymore mines, modern over-sized flame fougasses, and anti-tank mines—all “daisy-chained” together—went up in fantastic explosions, with waves of flame and shrapnel sweeping through the Nazi ranks.
“Weapons free, all squads. Commence firing!” Even more rockets and grenades streaked towards the troopers and Nazi orbs. The first few waves of troopers were torn to shreds, blown to pieces by the planted explosives or launched munitions. Those from her squads with the capability used their powers from a distance, with varying levels of effectiveness.
The Nazis renewed their ranks; with hundreds of the hulking monsters trudging towards the ECHO and CCCP positions, there were plenty of bodies to
soak up the punishment.
Saviour had a fleeting recollection of little Fei Li “dancing” among the Troopers in Red Square, her sword flashing, reflecting the light from the fires, with an uncanny resemblance to a miniature lightning bolt. Secretly her heart ached, and she wished that her old friend were here beside her; just as quickly as the thoughts had come, she swept them away.
“Commence Lei Gong bombardment,” she said, bitterly, reciting the code name she had personally chosen. The Commissar heard the dull ‘thwump’ of mortars being fired. She kept her eyes fixed on the Thulian positions; they had begun firing their energy cannons, destroying at least two of the southern ridge rocket positions. She bit her lip and concentrated, pushing back the anguish at seeing even more comrades dying. This is war, now. A real war. The mortars exploded, detonating two dozen meters above the Thulians. Hundreds of thousands of what looked like white, shiny streamers covered the battlefield. The streamers, only as thick as a ribbon, adhered to the troopers and the landscape around them. “Trigger Tian Mu. Mark.” As per the plan, they had set up several very, very expensive and increasingly rare ECHO broadcast energy generators in the valley. They were used, primarily, to power localized defensive shields and some of the weapons that the Commissar had commissioned for this operation. Now, the output for the broadcasters ramped up. This was one of Tesla’s gifts, an experimental weapon in short supply. Let’s see how the fascista like this.
The streamers, now affixed seemingly harmlessly to nearly all of the entrenched Thulian troopers, were all high-efficiency conductors, specifically tuned to the frequency of the ECHO broadcast generators. Most of the Thulian troopers were cooked in their suits; some even exploded, blown apart by gigavolts of electricity. Dozens of her own soldiers commenced fire; the main part of the Nazi force were still advancing and untouched by their secret “electric mortars,” and returned their fire.
There were some patches, however, where the Nazis were being cut down with…suspicious ease. Saviour frowned. At the battle in Red Square, they were impermeable to damage until they were heated to the glowing point. Here…and there…and there—mere rifle-fire and rocket-fire was taking them down, without the Krieger armor having been made vulnerable prior.
For a moment, she suspected some trickery. Fake suits with nothing in them? But no…no, they were writhing and dying there.
She pulled down a visor, ignored until now. “Overwatch,” she said in a commanding voice.
“Da Commissar.” It was Gamayun, not Vickie, that answered.
“Am seeing odd patches where fascista are taking great damage for no good reason.”
“Checking now.” There was a mixed babble of Russian with a touch of English as the Gamayun consulted with someone on another channel. Saviour’s visor lit up with a battlefield overlay. “This where you’re talking about?” The patches glowed with red light.
“Da.”
“Those places are within 500 yards of an ECHO Broadcast unit. Each one.”
Before the Commissar could ponder this revelation, the Thulians made a push. They were moving forward, and taking heavy casualties; but with so many hundreds of them, they could afford to. She made a snap decision. “Molotok, Chug, Soviette, on me! Davay davay davay, comrades!”
“Sestra, is wise for field commander to put own head on chopping block?” Molotok mocked. “Then again, is not much of a wise head up for the chopping!”
“Commissar,” Soviette interjected, “Ja ostanus’ v tilu chtobi pozabotit’sja o ranenih. Mi sobrali mnogih. I’ll being hang back, to police wounded.” An explosion punctuated her sentence. “We are accumulating many.”
“Da, fine! Rest of you, davay!” The Commissar broke from cover, leaping over and then kicking off of the large boulder that she’d previously been using for cover. She flew straight for a point where she’d intercept the Thulians; they wouldn’t be expecting a charge to counter their own. Saviour shot a powerful blast at the nearest cluster of three Thulians; it exploded the ground in front of them in a marvelous shower of hot gravel and dust. Molotok had bounded nimbly down after her; he speared through the air, tumbling into a group of Thulian troopers. Coming up in a roll, he immediately began to chop, punch, kick, and elbow at them. His super-strong body, his metahuman gift combined with years of unparalleled martial arts expertise, began to cut through and knock down the armored suits. Chug plodded after his comrades, bellowing his rage at the foes that had hurt his friends in Moscow. The rock man inelegantly smashed into the Thulians, hammering them with his fists. The Commissar had to look twice when she saw him literally rip one in half, breaking the suit over his knee and ripping top from bottom. Both halves spurted blood, sparks, and hydraulic fluid into the desert soil. Confusion played over his craggy face for a moment before he bellowed again and moved on to the next foe.
Of course. We are within 500 yards of a broadcaster…
Saviour kicked off into the air again, charging her fist with her own dangerous metahuman energy. She caved in a Thulian helmet with a satisfying crunch of crushed metal and bone; the Nazi clunked to the ground like a sack of hammers, utterly dead. The Commissar stole a glance over her shoulder. Soviette dashed from behind a boulder half covered in flaming debris, deftly jumping between metahuman combatants. One of the rocket teams from the ridge was still alive. Jadwiga wove her way through the fighting as if she was merely running an obstacle course, dodging explosions and energy cannon fire, stopping short of a knot of Thulian suits, and then running again to miss being crushed by a Nazi trooper. Saviour stopped, staring, her mouth falling slightly open with disbelief. Sovie reached the barely moving metahuman, hooked her hands under his arms, and began to drag him to cover. It was one of the most amazing displays of bravery that Natalya had ever seen from anyone, let alone from her friend and comrade Soviette.
Not wasting any time to dwell on the miraculous feat, Saviour screamed a hellish battle cry and launched herself at another pair of Nazis, fists charged with more destructive energy.
* * *
Movement on the screen caught Verdigris’ attention. He glanced at it sharply. The Seraphym was on the balcony outside Belladonna’s office.
There was a brief flash of blue beside the fire. Then both of them were gone, shooting straight up like a missile, moving too fast for the camera to track.
He could only stare at the monitor and grit his teeth.
* * *
Vix wasn’t answering hails on the comms, and that was very bad, in the grand scheme of things. Which was saying something, considering Bulwark’s team was pinned down at an intersection by two groups of Thulians.
Bulwark shouted, “Grenade out!” Red manipulated his ear drums to close against the blast and pressure, saving him the trouble of having to stuff his hands against his head. A Thulian staggered away from where the grenade had gone off; Red dropped him with a burst from his rifle.
“We need to get out of this cave, and soon! This place is shaking apart!” It was the gravity drives; one of the primary objectives for the CCCP infiltration team was to plant charges in strategic places around the base. Apparently, they’d managed to do the generators right.
“I know! Keep firing! We’ll have to punch our way out!”
“Which way’s out?” That was Matai. He had a point. Without Vix to guide them—
Red closed his eyes; he had to remember how the corridors had felt on the way in…what turns they’d made. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to retrace blind. It wasn’t even the first time he’d had to do it while being shot at.
It was, however, the first time he was having to do it during what felt like an earthquake, with gunfire and explosions going on around him.
That way? Maybe. Probably. Hell, any way was better than staying there. “This way!” he yelled, and made a break for it.
He made it just past the first intersection, when an armored trooper stepped out from around the corner. Between him and the rest. An armored trooper with functional energy cannons.
Red got body-slammed by the armored trooper as Bull’s force-field rammed into him, literally kicking him down the corridor.
He actually glanced off the hurtling trooper, getting slammed into the side of the corridor as the unguided “missile” went past.
He was still lying there, trying to get breath back in his lungs, when his comm went live again.
“Infil One, Infil One, do you read?”
That was a voice he knew…but not the one he expected. Fortunately Bulwark was able to respond. “Roger, we copy…Bella?”
“Vick’s down. I don’t have her magic, but I have your HUD feeds, I have her map, and I have your position on it. One hundred feet, right, right, right.”
Red coughed. “Darlin’, yer an angel.”
“Angel’s next to me. Move your buns, people. I think you have incoming. And that trooper’s getting up.”
“Motu! We need you, brother!” The two brothers nodded, then leaned forward, touching foreheads together momentarily. Motu threw a grenade towards the direction where they needed to go, rolling into the hallway seconds after the explosion. He dropped his rifle to the ground. Red could swear he saw the rifle warp, bend, and then coil from the floor and up Motu’s leg. The Samoan concentrated, and more debris gathered to him; pieces of Thulian weapons and armor, shell casings…the entire hallway began to creak. It wasn’t from the growing earthquake, signs that the generators were going critical; this was localized. The metal plating buckled around Motu, as if he had his own personal high-gravity field. Lighting panels and electrical conduits ripped free from the walls and ceiling, spraying out tremendous showers of sparks. Entire sections of the plating deformed, rent away from the walls, torn to fit to Motu’s body. The brave, beautiful bastard actually roared, and looked like a nightmarish scrap heap come to life. The dazed Thulians finally recovered enough sense to try to shoot at him.