by Lee Stephen
“Yeah,” David said. “Part of it’s his fault, because if he jumped into this, it’s on his shoulders…but at the same time, I know why he’s doing it. I hate talk-sellers, too.”
Scott frowned. “Me too.”
“At least we’re both jerks.”
“Yeah, we can find comfort in that,” Scott said as he rose from his chair. “I’m starving, man. I’m going to go grab a bite to eat if the cafeteria’s still open.”
“It might not be now. Go and check, I suppose.”
“All right. I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll be in the room.”
The two men nodded to each other, stepped out of the soldiers’ lounge, and went their separate ways.
The rest of the day was spent in routine. That evening, the members of Charlie Squad met and further discussed the day’s events, from bad food to Tacker’s discipline. When night came, they filed into their beds and slept.
This was the standard for the next few days, as group workouts and combat sessions took their place among morning activities. Operative life at Richmond took shape. Tacker never again mentioned the event that came to be known as the “Cincinnati Failure,” nor were the operatives late for any unit meetings. That lesson was learned.
The Falcon was ready for flight.
5
Wednesday, April 6th, 0011 NE
0142 hours
Three days later
The comms sounded at a quarter to two. Scott bolted upright in his bunk, his eyes squinting in the darkness. What in the world? Beep! Beep! Beep! In the upper bunk, David stirred beneath the covers. The rest of the room was silent. Beep! Beep! Beep! It repeated for several seconds, before Scott’s eyes shot open wide. The comms. He leapt out of bed and scrambled toward the closet.
David blinked and propped up. His mouth hung open. “Wha—?”
“The comms! The comms are going off!”
David repeated dazedly, “The comms are going off!” He dove to the floor and lunged toward the closet. “We’ve got three minutes!”
Scott contorted his legs into his jersey. “Two and a half!” If that much. He ripped his hands through the sleeves, tugged up the zipper, and grabbed his comm. “Let’s go!”
They collided into Becan and Jayden as soon as they left the room. “Time?” Becan hollered as they bolted down the hallway.
Scott flapped his watch into view. “Minute and a half!” Outside, Falcon Platoon’s operatives flat-tracked toward the hangar.
Technicians hurried back and forth across the hangar space. Vulture-7 glimmered in the night, the ground beneath it illuminated by the soft red and gold glow of running lights on its underbelly. Tacker waited next to it.
“Everyone in the transport!” he said. “Armor up!”
The operatives acknowledged with a unified Yes sir! and dashed up the Vulture’s ramp. They opened their lockers, where their EDEN combat armor awaited. Lightweight, flexible, and technologically superior to anything else on the planet, it was the international symbol of the EDEN operative. Its blue and silver finish dulled everything around it. It personified pride.
The operatives fastened their helmets and lowered the sky-blue visors over their eyes and noses. Tacker ordered the pilot to lift. The pilot acknowledged, and Vulture-7 ascended over the airstrip.
Tacker loaded his S-27 sniper rifle. “Listen up, everyone! This is a hot drop! Approximately one hour ago, two Bakma Carriers entered Earth’s atmosphere over Chicago with a full fighter escort. They dropped in the middle of the city, and all citizens have been ordered underground. Expect heavy resistance!”
The operatives continued to gear themselves.
“Hawk, Condor, Cougar, and Gryphon units were initially dispatched, but they got hit hard. We’ve been called in to provide support. Medics, be prepared for extensive casualties.”
Sasha and Natasha exchanged a glance.
“If you have any reason to suspect that Noboats are in the air, alert someone immediately! Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If any materialize, take cover and hunker down. Also, Chicago is out of power, so make sure your TCVs are on!”
The operatives acknowledged and activated the True-Color-Vision in their visors. The world took on an ethereal hue.
Tacker swung toward the cockpit. “ETA?”
“Five minutes, sir.”
“Five minutes, people! Clear your minds, get focused, and get ready to land!”
Hope for a smooth descent vanished as soon as Vulture-7 entered Chicago. Ground plasma fire blasted against its metal hull. Behind it, a small fleet of Vultures followed.
“Touchdown in thirty! We’re landing behind a barricade on South Michigan, so we should be able to exit without resistance. Stick together—I’m not chasing anyone down!”
The stomach-turning rush of descent kicked in, and the Vulture clumped to a landing. The rear door immediately burst open.
“Everyone out! Let’s go!”
The remnants of a building lay strewn across South Michigan Avenue—the barricade. Gunfire erupted on the other side. Burnt asphalt polluted the air. Injured EDEN operatives littered the landing zone, and rows of soldiers fired from atop the rubble. Above, a squadron of Vindicator fighters streaked by.
Tacker shot a glare to Sasha and Natasha. “Get to the wounded!” he shouted. The women disappeared into the throng of injured. Tacker continued up the mound. “There’s a company of Bakma en route to the barricade as we speak. Be prepared for heavy resistance.”
Scott and Becan reached the summit of the barricade first, and their eyes immediately widened. Fire illuminated the cratered streets of South Michigan. Lightning-white plasma bolts streaked across the ground. Human shrieks mixed with the gunfire. It was a war zone. Bakma foot soldiers amassed in the streets. Even from a distance, their unmistakable crimson-purple skin identified them, and their nauseous black and brown body armor seemed to perfectly define their role.
Mingled with them were the brutish beasts themselves. The canrassis. The war-beasts of the Bakma. They tromped ahead like miniature fur-covered tyrannosaurs, as Bakma riders sat firm atop them and blasted the barricade with their mounted plasma cannons. The canrassis’ soulless spider-eyes roamed the battlefield above their grotesquely excessive jaws.
Scott dropped to a knee and propped his assault rifle, but for a moment held fire. It was surreal. It couldn’t be real. “Oh my God,” he breathed.
Becan ducked to avoid plasma fire and then he, too, propped his assault rifle. “There’s no way in hell we’re goin’ to hold this off!”
David and Henry hit the summit next. Donald, harnessed with a mini-gun, followed.
Beside them, Jayden glared through his sniper scope. Pop! He cracked the bolt-action. Pop!
David looked toward the Texan and then at Henry. “You okay over there?”
“Yeah! I’m good!” Henry yelled, stumbling to avoid plasma.
A white flash erupted several yards past Scott, and he felt the wave of impact wash over him. Someone had been hit. He whipped around to see Zigler tumble backward down the barricade. Zigler’s faceplate smoldered and he hollered.
Scott said to Becan, “I’ll be right back!” He shouldered his E-35 and rushed toward the fallen operative. “Hold still, I got you!”
Zigler struggled, and the scorched helmet was removed. A bloodied bruise bulged in the center of Zigler’s forehead.
Scott stifled a gag. “You okay?”
“Yeah, watch out!” Zigler brushed past Scott, picked up his assault rifle, and charged up the hill again. Scott observed the soldier for a moment, then returned to Becan.
“He all righ’?”
“No.”
Becan said nothing and continued to fire.
“Major!” Lilan said as he approached Tacker. “They’ve confirmed. There are reinforcements coming in from farther down the road. We’ve gotta keep holding them.”
Tacker nodded.
“You got something else to
worry about, though. There’s a team from Cougar pinned down a couple blocks southwest of here near the Van Buren, South Wabash intersection. According to comm chatter, they’re under direct assault from at least a dozen hostiles and they’re too wounded to put up any real resistance.”
Tacker crossed his arms. “And we’re getting them out.”
“Not you,” Lilan said, “you’re staying here. Henrick is going after them. He’s got two guys from Delta ready to go, but I want you to give him a few more. Small team, just an in-and-out operation. They should be able to just follow the shuttle-rail.”
Tacker drew a breath. “With all due respect sir, I wouldn’t trust Henrick to walk my dog, let alone lead a rescue party.”
“That’s why I want some of your guys with him,” Lilan answered. “I would send you, but I want you here. I don’t want to risk you getting dropped on some random errand and leaving me with a platoon full of rookies. If I lose you, they’re not gonna give me another major.”
“Understood, sir.” Tacker examined his operatives and made quick decisions. “Remington, McCrae, Jurgen, Timmons, get over here now!”
“Four’s too many, send three.”
Tacker nodded as Lilan stepped away.
“Correction,” Tacker said. “Jurgen, you stay put, the rest of you come!” Scott, Becan, and Jayden arrived a moment later, as did Henrick and his operatives, two privates named Donner and Wilkins. Tacker dropped to a knee.
“Here’s the deal, gentlemen. We’ve got some guys from Cougar Platoon pinned down several blocks southwest. Some are wounded. The streets you’re looking for are Van Buren and South Wabash. There should be a shuttle-rail along that route. Track their comm signals and get them some help. Search and rescue, not rocket science. Who’s the medic here?”
The operatives exchanged looks, though none spoke. Tacker’s eyes widened, and he glared at Henrick.
“Did Lilan explain this to you before?”
“Yes sir, I—”
“And you didn’t take a trashing medic? Veck!” He cut off Henrick’s reply. “Rhodes, get over here.” Sasha arrived a moment later, and Tacker explained the situation again.
“If anything happens to Lieutenant Henrick, Remington will assume command. Understand, private?”
Scott was momentarily taken aback. “Yes sir.” He was the executive officer? As much as it didn’t make sense, Scott knew it was Tacker’s only option. Everyone in Falcon was an alpha private. One of them had to do it.
“Good. Go.”
The small band of operatives moved immediately. Henrick led them to the far right of the mound, where he signaled them to lower themselves to a knee. “We’re using the alleys to get to South Wabash,” he said, “but we have to cross the barricade to get to the first one. From there, we’ll start tracking them. We’ll all cross at once so we don’t give the Bakma a sequence to shoot at. What are your names?”
After each had responded, Henrick continued, “All right, count will be on three, then we run. One…two…three!”
Henrick launched over the barricade and skidded into the nearest alleyway. The others did the same. No plasma bolts followed them, and they soon found themselves alone and out of sight.
At the far end of the alley stood a brick partition with a rusty ladder. Henrick trotted toward it. “According to Intelligence, a building collapsed earlier about a hundred yards that way.” He pointed toward the brick partition. “We’ll have to find a way around it once we get to it.” He gripped the ladder. “Wilkins, come up after me! Then Donner, uhh…you,” he pointed to Becan. “Then you two!” Jayden and Sasha. “Remington goes last!”
As Henrick and Wilkins climbed, Jayden leaned toward Becan. “Should he be shoutin’ like that?”
“Probably not.”
Each pair that followed Henrick and Wilkins maintained distance between the pair in front and behind them, and eventually, all had crossed over the brick partition. They found themselves bunched together on the other side of the alley. It was perfectly symmetrical with the alley from which they had come, though it exited out into South Wabash—the main avenue they were seeking. Henrick and Wilkins strode toward the mouth of the alley as the cluster of other operatives followed close behind.
Rubble walled off South Wabash, as it did South Michigan. Unlike South Michigan, however, this wall was impassable. A segment of the shuttle-rail was down as well.
Henrick emerged from the alley first. “This is South Wabash—Van Buren should be a little south of here! We’ve got to find a way to cross this mound! Come on!” he bellowed.
Becan crept beside Scott and leaned close to him. “Does this nuggerknocker know wha’ a comm is?”
Scott hesitated. His thoughts were the same. This guy was announcing their presence as if they just stepped into a party. “Maybe there’s no Bakma here.”
“If there are anny, they sure as bloody hell know where we are.”
Jayden caught up with them. “This guy’s a moron.”
Moron or not, he was in charge. “Just follow his orders,” Scott said.
Henrick stood in the center of the street and propped his hands on his hips. “We’re going to have to get over this rubble!”
Becan grunted. “Righ’, wha’ are we goin’ to do, climb?”
“Yes! What looks like the easiest route up?”
“I was bein’ sarcastic!”
“Sir,” Scott said, “may I suggest an alternative route?” There was a building across the street that looked accessible. They could probably move through it and come out on the other side of the rubble.
Henrick’s eyes narrowed. “Do you see an alternative route anywhere, private?”
Scott blinked. Was this guy serious? “Well, uhh…yes…”
“We are climbing, Remington! If you’re scared of heights, get over it quick!”
Human and Bakma bodies littered South Michigan as Charlie Squad continued to engage. Several additional platoons joined alongside them, and the two opposing forces stalemated.
Above the battle, a dogfight between Vindicators and Couriers—Bakma fighter planes—broke loose.
Back on South Wabash, the search for a path up the rubble continued. Each attempt to climb met failure, and the atmosphere of impatience grew palpable.
“Sir,” Scott said to Henrick as he stepped beside Wilkins, “I strongly suggest an alternative route.”
In that instant, two sounds simultaneously erupted. The first was Henrick as he whipped around and shouted, “Remington!”
The second was plasma fire. Flashes of white streaked toward them, and Henrick, Scott, and Donner were jolted violently. A bolt struck Wilkins in the chest, and he was thrown against the rubble, where three more blasts punctured his torso. Scott ducked back as blood splattered across his armor, and he bolted to the far alley behind Henrick and Donner. The gig was up. The other operatives parted in the opposite direction.
Henrick screamed as a plasma bolt ripped through his leg, and he stumbled several yards from cover. Donner grabbed him and dragged him into the alley.
From across South Wabash, Becan howled in anger. “I’m up to ninety!”
Henrick moaned as Donner secured him against a wall. Scott skidded into the alley. “Can anyone over there see where that came from?” he asked through the comm.
Becan surveyed the corner of his alley, and a volley of plasma blasted his way. He ducked back. “Best I could see they’re on your side, abou’ thirty or so meters down! They’re in the next alley down—it’s on your end!”
“How many?”
“No clue!”
Scott looked over at Henrick. The lieutenant’s armor had been penetrated, and his leg was torn open. He was out of the fight. Scott was in command.
Only days before, the guilt of not knocking on Tacker’s door had consumed him. It had consumed him enough to make him swear to himself that he would never hesitate again. He wanted to remember the guilt for that reason. And now, he was the one.
There
was no hesitation.
“Everyone,” he said, “here’s what I want you to do. Sasha, inform Major Tacker of our status, and tell him I’ve assumed command.”
“Yes sir!”
“Becan, engage them from right where you are. Donner, you’ll do the same from over here. Distract them!”
Scott continued calling out orders—with assurance, considering the circumstances.
“Jay, while they’re doing that, I want you to break into that building right in front of you and get as high as you can on the other side. Find a window and get in a comfortable sniping position! Comm me when you’ve done that.”
“Got it!” Jayden answered.
Enough playing around. “I’m going to mirror you on this end through this building! When we’re both in position on the other side, we’ll hit them at the same time from opposite directions.”
“Gotcha!”
Scott drew a deep breath. “Let’s go!”
Becan and Donner engaged the Bakma as Scott and Jayden traversed their respective buildings, Jayden up a fire escape and Scott through a steel emergency door. Once Scott had crossed through the building, he found a similar steel door. The Bakma shouted to one another and reloaded their plasma rifles beyond it. Scott pressed against the door and waited.
Jayden’s voice broke through the comm. “In position,” he said in a low voice. “I’m layin’ down on the roof, I can see ‘em good. There’re four of ‘em.”
“Can they see you?” Scott whispered.
“Not right now.”
“How many can you take?”
Jayden paused. “I think I can get two before they realize I’m here.”
Two. Good enough. “Okay…take out as many as you can and tell me when they find you out. Go.”
“Goin’.”
