Epic: Dawn of Destiny

by Lee Stephen

  Silence fell between them. Finally Scott nodded. “Thanks, man. Really. I appreciate it.”

  “Keep praying, man. Don’t ever stop doing that.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night, Dave.” Scott rolled back onto his back and stared upward. A good man. If that was all he accomplished in life…that was okay. If that was all Nicole thought him to be…that was even better. His eyes slid shut, and the sounds of the night once again took their place in the room. The rest of the infirmary was quiet.

  Within minutes, they were both asleep.

  16

  Tuesday, April 19th, 0011 NE

  0132 hours

  Five days later

  Rain pounded on the city of Novosibirsk. It had done so for the last several days, as the weather in the city had turned into something strange. Novosibirsk never had been known for its hospitable climate, but now a different kind of thickness loomed in the air. The sky was supernaturally black, and the winds moaned like a chorus of banshees delivering their farewell. Some eden soldiers blamed Thoor for the heaviness, while others blamed the Nightmen. Some pinned it as something different—something new. It was as if God Himself was looking down on Novosibirsk through His darkened clouds, warning it of wrath that loomed over the horizon. But Novosibirsk was not afraid of God, or of banshees, or of anything.

  Inside, the men and women of the Fourteenth slept, oblivious to the elemental onslaught that waged outside. Even amid the constant pound of rain, none of them stirred. None of them stirred until God struck the Earth with His giant hand, and a single crack of deafening thunder destroyed the steady thrum of rainfall.

  Jayden’s eyes flew open, like loaded guns cocked and ready to fire. He scanned the rest of the room quickly. Darkness shifted into reality. All bunks were still. All operatives slept. Only he was aware.

  His brow furrowed and his senses perked. Something was wrong. Something in the room was different. Something was not supposed to be there. His ears adjusted as they tuned out the thunderstorm, and they began their silent interrogation of Room 14.

  It was an accepted truth that snipers were in a class of their own. There was something distinct about the composure of their senses that few others possessed. It was their innate ability to tune in with the world around them, yet still be able to isolate and remove selective distractions. It was a natural ability, one that allowed them to pick apart their surroundings and to examine whatever inconsistencies they found. Snipers were born for one purpose—to be snipers. Jayden was no exception.

  He filtered away the outside noise—the rain and the thunder. Then he removed the breathing of those who slept, followed by the creaks of bedsprings as operatives tossed and turned. Only then did his ears perk; his senses focused on the anomaly. There was definitely something else. There was another noise, one that was unnatural among the sounds of the night. Several noises. Voices. They were voices spoken in a way not meant to be heard.

  There was only one place in Room 14 suitable for the nocturnal veil of secrecy. The lounge. A glance to the lounge door revealed sparse light beneath it. Jayden threw a glance around the room. Becan was in his bunk, as was Boris. Only Fox and Kevin had been released from the infirmary, and both were visible under their respective covers. Galina and Varvara were in plain sight, which left three people unaccounted for. Clarke, Baranov, and Dostoevsky. The officers.

  Jayden slid from the covers of his upper cot and slipped down the ladder of his bunk, where his bare feet touched the floor with a jolt of iciness. The rain still slammed, and the thunder still boomed, though now they were little more than glorified distractions. Cautious to remain silent, he tip-toed across the room until he was beside the lounge door. He crouched to a knee, cocked his head, and placed his ear by the door frame. Despite their secrecy, the voices he heard were clear and recognizable.

  “Well, we needn’t someone to replace him in that aspect,” Clarke said, eyeing Dostoevsky, whose face was lit by the portable lamp that illuminated the countertop. “His isn’t exactly a necessary position.” He shifted to Baranov. “But someone will need to take his rank.”

  “Yes, captain,” Baranov answered. Dostoevsky nodded as well.

  “In my opinion,” Clarke said, “we’ve only got two choices, Travis or Max. Personally, I’m leaning toward Max. Travis never has struck me as a brilliant leader.”

  “He is not even a brilliant pilot…” Baranov said.

  “He does what’s expected of him,” Clarke said severely.

  “But only what’s expected of him.”

  “That’s why he’s flying a Vulture and not a Vindicator,” Dostoevsky said.

  “That’s enough,” Clarke said. “We’ll just consider that issue settled then, Max shall take over Tolya’s position as lieutenant. Are we all in agreement on that?”

  Baranov and Dostoevsky nodded.

  “Very well. Tolya and Max were both technicians anyway, so we needn’t adjust our orientation. So now that we’ve got that situation resolved, let’s get back to our delta core. Who have we got?”

  “I have always liked Fox,” Dostoevsky said. “He’s composed and he has a lot of common sense. Quiet, but…he’s a sniper. He is supposed to be quiet.”

  “I agree,” Baranov said.

  Clarke nodded. “So we’ve got Powers. Who else?”

  Dostoevsky sighed. “The only other gamma besides Galya is Remington.”

  “We’ve already discussed our medical situation,” said Clarke. “So let’s consider Powers and Remington. What have we got on Fox?”

  Baranov looked bored. “Graduated almost two years ago, high scores. We all know this already, we do not need to discuss.”

  Dostoevsky folded his arms. “What I see is consistency. Fox has never done anything spectacular as far as I can remember. But he has always done his tasks well. He’ll do the job right the first time. He is still young, yes, but he is dependable. He is a good role model.”

  “I agree,” Baranov said. “Fox is a smart choice, he is a safe one. We do not have to worry about surprises.”

  Clarke propped his elbows on the table. “The question now is how would he be as a leader? Delta teeters on the edge of epsilon, and epsilon is a primer for lieutenant. Standing back and taking orders is fine and well, but when it comes time to pick up the reins and take command, will he have the initiative and the ability?”

  Jayden shifted as he listened by the door.

  “I believe so,” Dostoevsky answered.

  Clarke nodded. “As do I.”

  Clarke and Dostoevsky faced Baranov, who drew in a heavy breath. He hesitated before saying, “I am unsure. You cannot tell how a person will react until they are in a situation that requires it. Fox has never been in that situation before. He is not very vocal…but at times this is a good thing.” He hesitated again. “I do not know. That is my answer.”

  Clarke nodded. “A perfectly legitimate one. Delta’s no small task, and some people never get that high…but we’ll have to see.” He paused for a moment. “And then we have Remington, our little gift from Richmond. I’m very curious as to your thoughts on him.”

  “I like Remington,” Baranov spoke without hesitation. “I had doubts at first, just as we all did, but after what I saw Thursday I was impressed. He has ability and initiative.”

  “Remington is overestimated by everyone,” Dostoevsky grumbled.

  “And where were you when Sveta was running away?” Baranov asked.

  Dostoevsky’s eyes narrowed.

  “He performed well when he was with me,” Baranov said. “He followed orders and engaged the Bakma. The only time he acted was when somebody had to act. He was not waiting for an opportunity to be hero—he watched Sveta run down the hill like the rest of us. Only when he saw that she was not going to make it did he jump, and then there was no hesitation.

  “Many times I have seen new soldiers rush into battle and do something so stupid that it makes me want to shoot them myse
lf to save the enemy the trouble. I am even embarrassed for some rookies who try so hard to be noticed. But I did not feel that way about Remington…this is how I know he was not acting like a hero. I was not embarrassed for him. I envied him.”

  Clarke listened carefully.

  “I am a leader,” Baranov said. “I am supposed to lead by example. When I watched him running across the snow, I remember thinking to myself…that should be me. We have all known Sveta for a long time, almost a year, and none of us,” he glanced at Dostoevsky, “none of us did anything to save her. It took someone who had known her only for a few days to jump out of a ship and run after her, alone. My heart hurt after that. When I visited Sveta for the first time, it was hard for me to look her in the eye. If not for Remington, we would have all just watched her get shot to death.”

  “And we almost lost two operatives instead of one,” Dostoevsky said.

  “Do you have a heart?”

  Clarke edged between the two. “Okay, gentlemen. This argument is a no-win situation. Personally I’ve never been fond of soldiers taking matters into their own hands, but at the same time there is an excellent chance that Svetlana would have died had he not interfered. That’s undeniable.”

  Dostoevsky remained silent as Clarke continued.

  “Mr. Remington’s knack for heroics, whether intentional or not, is also undeniable. I looked over the report filed by his colonel at Richmond after Chicago, and I must confess, it was a very impressive read. It’s definitely a difficult choice, between he and Mr. Powers, if not an interesting one.” Baranov and Dostoevsky stared at Clarke, who smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Do I need to ask you for your verdicts?”

  “Fox,” Dostoevsky answered.

  Baranov shook his head. “I say Remington.”

  Clarke chuckled. “Difficult call. And ultimately it’s mine.” The lounge fell quiet, as Clarke scrutinized the tabletop. Rain continued to drum outside. “Remington might be a good choice,” he said, “…but I know what I’m getting with Fox.”

  Jayden muttered.

  “Powers is a good choice. He will do well,” said Baranov.

  Clarke nodded. “They’re both good choices. I would just rather go with someone I feel like I know and trust. Fox is one of the most consistent operatives I’ve worked with. He’ll do brilliantly.” He looked between the two men, where his gaze held on Dostoevsky.

  Dostoevsky’s eyes moved away from the table, and trained on the crack at the bottom of the lounge door. Clarke opened his mouth, but Dostoevsky snapped a signal of silence. Clarke held his tongue, and he and Baranov stared at the bottom of the door.

  Dostoevsky stood and stepped away from the table. Clarke and Baranov watched as he edged to the far wall, then glided to the door’s edge. He placed his hand atop the doorknob, gripped his fingers around it, and jolted the door open.

  No one.

  Dostoevsky padded into the bunk room and scanned it. Every operative was accounted for beneath the covers of their bunks. He hesitated for several seconds, then his gaze narrowed.

  Beneath the covers of his bed, Jayden laid still. The only movement that came from his body was the subtle breathing that caused his chest to rise and fall. Though the rain pounded outside, he could hear the quiet clump of the lounge door as it was closed. He made no attempt to look. He simply laid there and waited for true sleep to catch up with him. Almost thirty minutes later, after he heard the three officers leave the lounge and retire to their bunks, it did.

  * * *

  Wednesday, April 20th, 0011 NE

  0618 hours

  By the next morning, the violent thunderstorm that had shaken the city of Novosibirsk had evolved into an airy snowfall that blanketed the base, typical Russian weather for that time of the year.

  The Fourteenth’s morning routine came in its traditional manner, as operatives donned their attire and set the coffee and tea to brew. Soon after initial wakeup, the first breakfast crew ventured out of the living quarters—Becan, Jayden, Fox, and Travis. It was a new custom for them to meet with William and Joe at that time for breakfast. They met in the hallways of the barracks, and went to the cafeteria together. This time, only William was there to find them.

  The days began to lengthen, as sunrise was at almost a quarter after five. It gave Novosibirsk the stark comfort of brightness to greet the base’s earliest risers. The frigidity lasted throughout the day.

  The snow-covered landscape in Novosibirsk was different than in America. Together with the faithfully overcast sky and the coldness of the base itself, the scenery was more bleak than beautiful.

  As soon as they stepped outside, the still blast of arctic air bit them.

  “Another scorcher,” Travis said as he clutched his arms against his chest. Vapors from his mouth and nostrils hovered then vanished.

  William smirked as his body tightened. “Weather Mike must be ticked.”

  “Who the bloody hell is Weather Mike already?” Becan asked irritably.

  “Weather Mike is Dr. Michale Eckstein, our base meteorologist,” Fox answered, “and the man to blame for any and all problems with the weather.”

  “It’s his fault,” William said. “He gives us this.”

  Becan’s teeth rattled. “Well in tha’ case it makes total sense then. I mean, weathermen are directly responsible for the weather.”

  “Exactly,” Fox nodded.

  “So how is this Weather Mike bucko?” Becan asked.

  Fox glanced at him. “That’s the other thing. Nobody’s ever seen him.”

  William blew a frosty breath. “Sort of like Loch Ness or Bigfoot. People see him just rounding a corner and out of view or something…blurry photographs, footprints that lead to nowhere…that sort of thing.”

  Becan mm-ed. “I see. Are there Weather Mike hunters, too?”

  “Nope,” William answered. “He’s responsible for the weather, and that’s all we need to know.”

  The cafeteria bustled with activity—the drowsy conversation of comrades, the stifled yawns of the recently awakened, and the clank of metal utensils. It took a short while for the five-man entourage to claim their breakfast, at which point they wandered through the room until they discovered an unclaimed table.

  Travis adjusted his tray as he sat down. “How long do you guys think everyone else will be in the med-bay?”

  Becan sipped his tea. “Remmy and Dave shouldn’t be in there too long. They’re not as bad off as the others.”

  “They might be let out today,” said Fox. “I know Sveta is supposed to be released tomorrow. As far as Max and Kostya…they might be a while. At least a month, easy.”

  Travis offered a sad chuckle. “Strange how that happens. One minute you’re fine…next minute you’ve got bullet-holes…that’s got to be a scary thing.”

  “Yeh never been shot?” asked Becan.

  “Nope. Been lucky so far,” Travis said, shaking his head.

  “How long yeh been in EDEN?”

  “Four years now. All of ‘em here, all of ‘em with Vultures.”

  Becan whistled. “I can’t see how yeh can stand bein’ here so long. I been here a week an’ I already miss Richmond.”

  Fox took a sip of tea and nodded. “Richmond is one of the nicer facilities. I’d imagine Novosibirsk ranks among the worst, comfort-wise. Maybe with Leningrad.”

  “Russians don’t exactly put luxury at the top of their list,” said Travis, half-frowning. “But hey…it’s the military. If we were supposed to be staying at a first-class resort then we’d have a right to complain.”

  “Yeah,” Becan said, “guess you’re righ’.”

  They were drawn into a lull of silence. As the collective chewing mixed with the conversation around the cafeteria, William shifted in his chair to face Jayden. The Texan’s eyes surveyed his plate as he ate in quiet. William watched for several seconds before he pointed and spoke. “You’re too quiet. You freak me out.”

  Jayden opened his mouth, but Becan cut him off. “
He’s a wee bit cheesed off at the moment. See, he never gets called into action, always has to sit back an’ watch everythin’ happen. That’s ‘cos he couldn’t hit the broad side of an elephant.”

  Jayden shook his head and took another bite.

  “Is that so?” Fox asked.

  “It is,” Becan answered. “He thinks his life’s so difficult ‘cos he’s from Texas, they don’t favor education very much over there. Long as yeh can rope a steer an’ spit tobacco you’re good to go in their eyes, tha’s why the rest o’ the world is such a challenge to them.”

  Jayden was unable to stifle a chuckle, and he set his fork down. The others grinned.

  “So as yis can imagine, bein’ the poor shot tha’ he is an’ withou’ anny formal education, me boyo’s kind o’ had the odds against him from the get go.”

  Fox turned to Jayden and smiled. “You don’t have it that bad. At least your parents didn’t name you Fox.”

  The others laughed, and jovial conversation returned in full force. As the group talked, Travis’s gaze shifted to the cafeteria door. “Fox, you said Svetlana was supposed to be let out tomorrow?”

  Fox nodded. “That’s what I heard.”

  “Well, for the first time in as long as I can remember…you’re wrong.”

  Fox looked puzzled, then followed Travis’s gaze around to the front of the cafeteria. The others at the table did the same. There, propped in the archway of the cafeteria door, was Svetlana. Galina and Varvara were at her sides, as they inched toward the food line one step at a time. All conversation at the soldiers’ table stopped.

  Galina and Varvara each held a hand on Svetlana’s shoulders. Svetlana’s look was non-cognizant; she cast a blank stare to the floor in front of her. The expression on her face was no expression at all.

  They watched in silence as Galina and Varvara led her to the line, where they progressed until they reached the counter. There they took a small portion of food, then left to claim a solitary table in the far corner of the room. Neither Galina nor Varvara carried a tray for themselves.