Team Omega

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Poor bastards, Hope thought coldly. But they chose the wrong side.

  Fighting spread throughout the core of Washington as the Marines fought savagely against the incoming superhumans, joined by policemen and a core of what looked like security guards from corporate headquarters. Hope ordered the superhumans to concentrate on the fighters alone, warning them to avoid the fleeing civilians as best as possible. He would have preferred to round up everyone who worked in the Pentagon and the other buildings and hold them, at least until he knew who he’d captured, but the last thing he wanted was for civilians to be caught in the crossfire and killed. It wasn't as if the defenders could stop him.

  Shaking his head, he turned towards the White House and rocketed towards the main door. A handful of Marines had turned it into a small fortress, using machine guns and rockets to hold off the other superhumans. But that wouldn't work against him; Hope smashed right through the barricade at superhuman speed. One of the Marines tackled him directly, something that shocked him until he realised that the Marine intended to detonate all of his grenades right on top of him. The golden spandex he wore was torn by the blast, but it couldn't penetrate his skin. He watched as the remains of the Marine fell to the ground and shook his head, sadly. First the pilot, and now this.

  The American government didn't deserve such men working for them.

  He tapped his communicator as the fighting grew louder. “Mainframe?”

  “I’m into the secure communications network,” Mainframe reported. His computer skills were second to none—and besides, they’d pulled some of the codes they needed out of General Kratman’s head. “I can shut down most of the systems now, but I don’t know if that’s all of them. The President might still be able to launch a nuclear strike.”

  “Shut them down,” Hope ordered. “And then take over the Emergency Broadcast System and issue our warning.”

  The American Government hadn't issued any warning to the civilians, although Hope doubted that that was actual malice. They simply hadn't had time between the first attacks and the invasion of Washington, DC itself. But someone would have to warn the civilians of the dangers facing them...

  “Understood,” Mainframe said. “I’m afraid that I cannot locate the President, either.”

  “Not to worry,” Hope said, as he started to walk through the White House. It had been seven years since he’d entered the building, when President Cheney had given him a medal for saving lives in Florida after a hurricane, but he forgot nothing. Inside, the building was almost completely deserted, apart from a handful of people he heard cowering inside the West Wing. He doubted they included the President, so he ignored them and kept walking towards the Oval Office. “I’m sure we’ll find him soon.”

  ***

  “Mr. President, we need to move!”

  The reports from the surface were terrifying. A handful of Marines were still holding out, but it didn't look as though they’d be able to stop Hope from tearing his way into the White House or anywhere else. The Pentagon had already fallen, while Congress’s guards reported that they were stuck inside the building, unable to evacuate the Congressmen who had remained in Washington to debate recent events.

  Chester took a gun from one of the Secret Servicemen and helped the President to his feet, pulling him towards an access tunnel that led even deeper underground. The President seemed stunned, unable to believe what was happening; his companion, the USAF Major carrying the Nuclear Football briefcase, was staring around wildly, his hands clutching the football as though it was a newborn baby. Chester had considered advising the President to launch a nuclear strike, but where could they have targeted and been certain of taking out Hope himself? Washington itself, with the American citizens all around it?

  “We’ve lost the direct links to NORAD,” one of the computer operators shouted. “The system is being shut down from the inside. Even emergency channels are going down.”

  “Damn him,” Chester muttered. One of the Saviours had an unwholesome link with technology, giving him the ability to insert his mind into computer links. He wouldn't have any trouble shutting them down once he managed to get inside, using his uncanny insight into how computers operated to bypass passwords and other security precautions. “Seal this level, then prepare to purge these computers.”

  The access tunnel led down to one of Washington’s best-kept secrets, the underground link to a classified military installation outside Washington, DC. A small car awaited the President and his staff, ready to whisk him away down the tunnel and away from the disaster gripping the capital. One of the Secret Servicemen ran over to the controls, tapping commands into a system that had never been used for its intended purpose—until now. The hatch at the end of the room hissed open, revealing a darkened tunnel as the President and his escorts climbed into the car, ready to flee the city. Chester felt a shudder running through the ground and shivered, wondering just what Hope was doing above them. Someone as powerful as Hope wouldn't have any difficulty in finding the secret tunnels, assuming he knew to look for them. And Hope had been trained by the SDI.

  “Security checks out,” the driver said. The vehicle hummed to life, just as another shudder ran through the complex. “I’ve sent a ping ahead of us to warn them to prepare to evacuate the President as soon as we arrive.”

  Chester nodded. Hope would presumably find the tunnel and follow it, which would lead him directly to the military base. Sadly, the planners hadn't anticipated an armed invasion of Washington when they’d drawn up the emergency procedures. But once they were there, they could get the President into a small aeroplane or a ground vehicle and get him away from the scene. What they’d do then was an open question, but at least the President would be safe.

  The vehicle jerked and sprang to life, heading towards the tunnel. Chester moved his lips in silent prayer as the darkness swallowed them, the hatch swinging shut behind the car.

  Maybe, just maybe, they would make it in time.

  ***

  The Oval Office was almost exactly as Hope remembered it, apart from the mound of papers scattered on the floor, suggesting that its occupant had left in a hurry. Hope looked around, reluctant to damage the room any more than necessary, looking for the secret panel he knew had to be somewhere in the room. No competent protection service—and the Secret Service was among the best in the world—would have wanted the President to have an office that didn't include a secret way out; all he had to do was find it. One part of the wall seemed less ornate than the rest, suggesting that someone had wanted to keep it clear. Hope reached out, tore at the plaster and metal that made up the wall, and saw the shaft leading down into the underground complex. Smiling, he dropped down and landed in front of a solid metal door.

  Bracing himself, he hit it with all his strength. Astonishingly, the hatch only moved a few inches, despite the force of his blow. Someone had designed a very good system, he told himself as he hit it again and again, eventually knocking it down to reveal an underground control centre. But it hadn’t been good enough.

  A handful of soldiers fired on him the moment he emerged, their bullets bouncing off his chest and ricocheting around the room. Hope ignored them as he looked for the President, but there was no sign of him. He’d come into this room, and then...

  ...Gone down the next shaft, he realised, as he walked towards the hatch. The soldiers and the operators they were supposed to defend ran out of ammunition, but Hope ignored them as he wrenched open the second hatch and dropped into the lower levels of the complex. It wasn't as if they could do anything to stop him without communications, now that Mainframe had taken down most of the communications network. The rest of the Saviours would round them up soon enough.

  The next room confused him, at first, until he spotted the hatch at the far wall. Someone had effectively set up an underground station under the White House and hidden a vehicle for the President to use to make his escape. He tapped the controls thoughtfully, only to discover that someone had wiped
the programming routines from the system, probably to impede pursuit. Hope shrugged, walked over to the hatch, and started to press it carefully, before throwing caution to the winds and hammering on the metal until it broke. Inside, the tunnel was dark and cold, but in the distance he could hear a vehicle humming with life. They couldn't hide from a superhuman in the darkness.

  Hope flew down the tunnel, catching up with the President’s car effortlessly. One of the Secret Service agents turned, saw him and opened fire with a pistol, hitting Hope eight times out of nine. The bullets simply bounced off his invulnerable skin and he lunged forward, ready to grab the President...

  ...And the Secret Serviceman hit him hard enough to send him crashing back down the tunnel. Momentarily stunned, Hope got up and saw the agent standing between him and the President’s car, ready to fight to hold him off. A superhuman, he realised numbly, hidden in plain sight right next to the President as the final line of defence. He cursed himself for not anticipating the other superhuman’s presence, and then hurled himself at the agent. If he’d been Level 5, he would probably have been in the SDI rather than being assigned to the President. Hope hit him with enough force to shake a mountain and saw the agent stagger backwards, before striking back himself with superhuman strength. Not a flyer then, part of Hope’s mind noted; probably nothing more than strength and near-invulnerable skin.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said, as he caught the agent’s hands and held them. For a moment, they were evenly matched, pushing at each other with terrifying force. “The President is a war criminal, and...”

  The agent ignored him, yanking one hand free and slamming his fist into Hope’s nose. It hurt more than Hope had expected, suggesting that this agent had had some measure of military training, unusual in superhumans outside the SDI. But then, he had been assigned to protect the President, and had probably gone through the SDI’s training course before completing the Secret Service’s own course. Or maybe it had been the other way around. A person could spark into superhumanity at any time.

  Hope felt his eyes ignite with fire as he focused on the agent’s face. The fire wouldn't harm him directly, but it would burn up the oxygen in the air, making it harder for him to breathe. Hope slammed into the agent as he staggered, gasping for breath, hitting him again and again until he was beaten into submission. He wasn't dead, but he was out of the picture for the moment. One of the others could pick him up as soon as Hope had caught the President and his companions. Hurling himself down the corridor, he soon caught up with the President’s car.

  ***

  Chester lifted the pistol as Hope came into view, hoping that the hidden superhuman would have torn a gash in Hope’s invulnerable skin. But there was nothing, no sign of any wound apart from a slight discolouring around his nose. Chester hesitated—and then Hope yanked the pistol right out of his hand, crushed it and caught hold of the car. There was a terrifying screech as it came to a halt. A moment later, Hope picked up the driver with one hand and effortlessly tossed him out of the vehicle.

  “Mr. President,” Hope said. His voice was rich and warm, but there was an edge in it that Chester didn't like. Superhumans walked closer to madness than ordinary humans and Hope was clearly frayed, if not mad already. How would he react when he discovered that his grand plan had gone completely off the rails? “You are under arrest.”

  He looked at Chester. “And I know you from Sparky’s memories,” he added. “You’re under arrest, too.”

  Before Chester could say anything, Hope picked up the entire car and carried it back down towards the White House. A pair of superhumans greeted their leader as he emerged from the tunnel; Hope directed them to secure the people he’d left behind as he helped the President out of the car and pushed him towards the shaft. Chester could still hear a handful of shots in the distance, but it certainly seemed that Hope had taken the White House and all of central Washington. But taking the nation’s capital wouldn't subdue the United States. There were Americans who would raise a glass in Hope’s honour if he destroyed Washington, seeing it as the source of all the trouble that blighted the United States, before going back to the war. And there were plenty of superhumans who wouldn't go along with Hope...

  And my wife will be caught in the middle, he thought, numbly. But all he could do was pray she survived.

  The White House hadn't been designed as a prison, but the superhumans had taken over the Ballroom and converted it into a temporary holding pen. Two mutants searched Chester roughly, removing everything from his cell phone to the pencil and notebook he always carried in his pocket, before forcing him into the ballroom to wait with the other captives. Most of them were White House staff, although there were a couple of wounded Marines and one of the President’s military aides. They had been given basic medical treatment, but they needed to go to a hospital. Somehow, he doubted that the superhumans would provide transport until Washington was firmly under control.

  He’d had nightmares about a superhuman coup once he’d been given political control of Team Omega. One reason he’d fought so hard for the team’s independence—and its wide remit—was fear of what would happen if superhumans ever banded together into a single force...but that hadn’t been necessary, had it? Hope had taken the White House with only a tiny percentage of the world’s superhuman population...and Chester was helpless to do anything, even contact Team Omega. Even if he could...it would only risk betraying them to the enemy.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to be patient. There would be an opportunity to escape sooner or later - he hoped - and then he could make contact with others who might join the fight.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The briefing on the teleporter had warned that using it was a disconcerting experience. It hadn't said that it would leave anyone who used it throwing up everything they’d eaten as soon as they arrived, or that they would spend what felt like hours suspended between reality and unreality.

  Jackson staggered the moment the field released him and threw up, dry-heaving as soon as he emptied his stomach. All of the others did much the same thing, leaving the team practically helpless if a superhuman arrived and caught them before they recovered.

  He pulled himself upright, clutched his chest, and looked around. They had materialised in a basement illuminated only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, a basement containing nothing but weapons. There were crates of ammunition, grenades and even antitank rockets, enough to fight a small war. Behind them, he saw a handful of specialised weapons designed for Team Omega. There was even a pair of whispers for their operations.

  Lane staggered towards a wooden ladder heading up to a hatch and climbed up, one hand holding his pistol as the other pushed the hatch open. Bright sunlight streamed from the windows, but no one opposed him as he climbed out of the basement. Jackson followed him, feeling slightly shaky as he struggled up the ladder, and out into a lounge. It looked like an average house, as far as he could tell; there were no signs that it belonged to anyone other than a stockbroker or insurance salesman. The list of books along the far wall suggested someone more interested in historical fiction than military life.

  “These windows are tinted,” Lane said. He sounded weak—and badly shocked. His Sergeant had died winning them time to escape. The relationship between a Captain and Sergeant had to be good for the team to prosper—and they’d served together for nearly seven years. Losing him had to hurt badly. “Come on up; it should be fine.”

  Jackson followed him into the kitchen and saw that someone had stocked it with enough food to feed an army. His stomach growled at him and so he picked up some cereal and milk, followed by a loaf of bread and preserved meat. He passed it back to Ron and then started to fill the kettle with water for coffee. The team needed to eat before they all collapsed from hunger, having emptied their stomachs down in the basement. Besides, it didn't look as if they were in immediate danger.

  “Captain,” Ron said slowly, “what is this place?”

&
nbsp; “Some dot-com millionaire built it before his company crashed and burned in 2005,” Lane said, absently. “A front company made him an offer for the house and lands, allowing us to turn it into a classified deployment base that is completely off the books. The capes can dig through all the military files they like; they won’t find any trace of this place.”

  He smiled, rather humourlessly. “We then hid some equipment underground in the basement, just in case we needed to deploy quickly and we couldn't go back to the base to pick up our equipment. The only people who ever knew about this particular base were me and the Sergeant. Even the people in the front company didn't know what we wanted it for—they probably suspected that it was going to be turned into another CIA safe house for debriefing defectors or returning agents.”

  Jackson nodded. “Do the other teams have their own refuges in case of disaster?”

  “I assume so,” Lane said. “It's one of the details we don’t share with each other. This base being compromised won’t betray the other bases.”