Epic: Dawn of Destiny

by Lee Stephen

  Their emotion was interrupted, as a white streak emerged from the Bakma. The driver turned to face them. “Hold on! Plasma missile!”

  The cabin braced. William cackled. “We’re all gonna die!”

  The driver floored the accelerator and spun the wheel right. The rocket rammed against the Grizzly’s side. It leapt on two wheels. The cabin roared as a hole blew through the hull of the vehicle. Flames blazed up, and the Grizzly skidded sideways as it crashed down to earth.

  The Grizzly grabbed concrete and lurched forward. As the soldiers reoriented themselves, they scanned the cabin. Nobody was dead. A defiant cheer arose, and the driver plunged the accelerator down. “Do not shoot what you cannot stop, you purple monkeys!”

  Scott stood and wiped the soot from his face. The battlefield was plainly visible through the newly blown hole in the hull. Two of the larger men knelt beside it and propped rocket launchers against their shoulders. Rockets whizzed out as the Grizzly surged ahead.

  The Noboats were upon them and the driver white-knuckled the wheel. “Brace for collision!”

  Scott turned to the cockpit window. His eyes bulged. William screamed.

  “Battering ram!”

  They hit.

  The Grizzly’s frame rocked as the forces of tonnage collided. Sparks and metal exploded as the men flew forward. Shouts bellowed; blood spattered everything. The Grizzly bucked as its wheels whined ahead. Its nose crashed to the ground.

  They were through.

  The pair of Noboats parted and the Grizzly cruised beyond them. One more pair stood between them and the tower. Moments before impact, someone in the back shouted.

  “Hold on!”

  The Grizzly slammed into metal again. Grips were jarred loose as operatives flew in all directions. The massive wheels churned. The engine screamed. The Noboats gave way. There was a burst of traction and the Grizzly lurched ahead.

  “We are through!”

  The vehicle skidded to a sideways halt.

  “Tower’s here, pop the top!”

  The top hatch burst open. Plasma bolts soared toward them. The nose-mounted chain gun erupted. “Go!” the driver said. “Get out!”

  Scott and Jayden scrambled out of the hatch; William followed. Scott bolted to the tower door, where a handprint pad secured the entrance. The security lockout. Scott placed his hand on it. The door swung in. “Tower’s open!” Jayden and William hurried in as the rest of the Eighth engaged behind them. “Will, turret’s yours! Go! Everyone, come on!”

  Across the airfield, Clarke issued orders through his comm to an orphaned platoon. “The northeast end of the airstrip has become a stronghold! We’ve got to clear a path to it and reclaim some lost territory!” Varvara placed her hands on his chest to keep him still. He shoved them away and struggled to a stand.

  “Captain!” she said. “You must not!”

  “I can walk!” Clarke said as he groaned.

  “Nyet, captain! You must not—”

  “Are you in charge or am I?”

  Varvara became quiet.

  Above them, silver streaks tore across the sky. Clarke swung his gaze upward. Vindicators. “That’s Leningrad!” he said. “That’s Leningrad!” EDEN operatives cheered as the fighters strafed the airstrip. The Bakma scattered.

  Clarke waved to the hangars. “Rally up, everybody! We’re taking back our base!”

  Atop the turret tower, William slid into the forty-barreled chain gun’s seat. A protective shield sealed around him, and mechanical gears twisted to propel the turret up. The twin barrels discharged and a wave of orange poured into the Bakma from behind. The eruption from the turret was deafening.

  The rest of the Eighth formed an offensive perimeter around the top of the tower. A barrage of heavy weapons fire rained down as the Bakma dashed for cover. Jayden’s eyes squinted as he fired his E-35.

  Scott held suppression fire as the last of the Eighth dove into the tower. He watched and attempted to count them as they bolted up the stairwell. Was that everyone? Yes. It was. He whacked his hand over the inner print sensor and it acknowledged him. Security lockout activated. He heaved the door shut.

  It stopped within an inch of the frame.

  Oh no.

  The door swung back open; plasma streamed in. Scott dove for the floor. As he rolled over onto his back, a pair of Bakma rushed into the tower. Shut the door. He had to shut the door. His legs flexed and he kicked the metal door frame. It slammed closed and the security lockout chirped. The Bakma turned to face him.

  Scott knew he was in trouble the moment he saw them. One was normal. But one was huge. Muscles flexed in its arms and legs. Even its neck bulged. The Bakma’s opaque eyes shrunk to slits as he glared at Scott. They attacked.

  Scott dove. Plasma jetted behind him. Scott rolled over his assault rifle and hit the trigger. Blood misted the air, and the smaller Bakma fell. Scott scrambled to his feet, and the muscled Bakma took aim.

  There was nothing Scott could do. The Bakma’s plasma rifle fired in front of him, and Scott stood petrified as the bolt flashed his way. Nicole. She was going to get a letter. Not an explanation, not a final chance to say goodbye. A letter. Her fiance was dead.

  No.

  Scott braced up his rifle. The plasma bolt smashed into it. The gun shattered and he was thrown backward. The air fizzed as his vision whitened then returned. He clenched his teeth and looked down at his rifle. It was destroyed. A hole was charred through his armor. But that was it.

  He was still alive.

  He flickered his gaze up. The barrel of a plasma rifle hovered point-blank in front of his face. Scott crossed his eyes to focus on the weapon, before he looked beyond it. The lifeless, cold expression of the muscled Bakma awaited him. The Bakma’s slit-eyes gleamed as he placed his finger on the trigger. “K’kanak t’ae, `Uman.”

  Click.

  The Bakma blinked.

  Scott blinked.

  The Bakma looked at his gun.

  Scott quirked a brow.

  The Bakma hesitated, and his mouth dropped open. “Uhh…”

  Dive! Scott lunged into the Bakma’s chest, and the two fighters tumbled backward. Scott felt himself being thrust upward and the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air. His back hit the far wall upside down.

  As he tried to regain his footing, a fist hooked across his face. His vision blackened and he stumbled sideways. Something pounded against his sternum. He buckled over. Before he could react, a foot crashed into his chest and knocked him backward.

  When Scott landed, his mouth hung slack-jawed. His eyes watered. He could feel blood trickling down to his lips. Above him, the Bakma towered. This was not a fight the human was meant to win. Everything swung in the Bakma’s favor. Except for one minor detail.

  Scott’s handgun.

  It was still fastened at his side. Without a second of hesitation, he flicked it out of its holster and trained it up. The Bakma froze.

  Scott staggered to his feet. The handgun stayed out. “Do you understand me?”

  The Bakma looked puzzled.

  “Do you understand me?” Scott repeated.

  The Bakma hesitated. “Duthek horu `Uman lkaana?”

  What was that word? Scott’s mind raced as the gun-checked Bakma stared back at him in confusion. Grrashna! That was it. The Bakma word for self-surrender.

  “Grrashna!” Scott said emphatically. He motioned his handgun to the ground.

  The Bakma’s eyes grew wide with understanding. “Grrashna,” it nodded. It lifted its hands above its head and sunk to a knee.

  Jayden’s comm crackled as Scott spoke. “Jay, I’ve got a prisoner down here.”

  Jayden stopped firing. “You got a what?”

  “Two Bakma slipped through. I don’t know if you heard the gunshots or not,” Scott answered.

  Jayden shook his head. “I didn’t even know you were still down there! I can’t hear nothin’ up here!” Above him, the turret’s blasts deafened the tower. Jayden covered
his helmet comm with a hand.

  “Well I got a live one! He looks important!”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know—they all look important! Do they need me up there?”

  “Nah man,” Jayden answered, “we got it! We got too many people up here already!”

  “All right,” Scott answered. “I’ll be down here then!”

  “Okay! Be careful!”

  “You too!”

  Clarke’s eyes peeled across the airstrip, where the twin-barreled turrets roared in anger. For the first time, the Bakma fell into disorganized chaos. Clarke stared at the turrets and smiled. Remington had done it. He’d freed the tower. “Brilliant, Remington. Brilliant.” He peered skyward as a pair of Vindicators strafed the Noboats.

  Near the hangars, Dostoevsky, Becan, and Travis rejoined the fight. Close behind them were David and Max. EDEN forces poured into the battlefield to join the Nightmen already there. Captains and their platoons, amalgamations of broken units, and any others able to fight rallied together in full force.

  Clarke swung up his assault rifle as a pair of riderless canrassis tromped down the strip. They chattered shrilly as their spider-eyes passed from one soldier to the next. Bullets pierced through their fur and their bodies stuttered in mid-gallop.

  “Surround and concentrate!” Clarke said. He dropped awkwardly to one knee and opened fire. It took several seconds of yanking the trigger before the gun’s bullets sunk into one of the beasts’ heads. It roared, reared on its hind legs, and toppled over.

  The second canrassi shook as bullets peppered it. It fell toward the nearest EDEN soldier, where its jaws—filled with three rows of teeth—clamped across the man’s torso. The soldier screamed as his body was torn in half. Bullets poured into the beast’s flesh until it lurched forward and landed neck-first onto the ground. Its pale blue tongue slipped from its mouth, and it fell still.

  The Bakma were decimated. EDEN soldiers stormed the airstrip. Nightmen warriors fortified the hangar. Vindicator fighters assaulted the Noboats.

  From the turret tower, Jayden smiled softly.

  It was almost over.

  As the last of the Bakma drew within close-combat range, gunfire from assault rifles rained at them in torrents. The turret towers held their fire. The Vindicators ceased their strafes. As human forces broke through the barrier of Noboats, the Bakma that remained threw down their weapons and lifted their hands. Full surrender.

  The battle was won.

  The twin turrets whirled to a stop, and William relaxed. Beneath him, Jayden set down his weapon for the first time. The whole of the Eighth withdrew their guns and either sunk to their knees or sat back. Only Jayden rose to his feet to overlook the battlefield.

  It was chaos. Buildings flamed. Bodies littered the ground. Screams shattered the air. The scope of the damage was surreal. It was too vast to be understood.

  When Scott heard Russian voices outside, he knew it was safe to open the tower. His gun remained on the Bakma as he stepped back and placed a hand blindly on the security sensor. The door whisked open and a trio of Nightmen hustled in. They recoiled as they saw the Bakma, readied their assault rifles to fire, then paused. The alien was no threat.

  Scott lowered his handgun and released an enormous breath. He looked at the Bakma, whose stare met his. For several seconds the Bakma did nothing, until it offered Scott a half-frown and a nod.

  Scott didn’t know how to respond. The gesture was unexpectedly human. He watched the Bakma for several moments, before he returned a solemn nod of his own, turned to the tower door, and stepped out.

  Clarke holstered his pistol and removed his helmet. It clunked to the ground as he brushed his hand through his sweat-streaked hair. Cinders popped as the hangars burned, and the smell of charred flesh hung over the airstrip.

  David and Max fell to the ground—one exhausted and the other injured. Both men lay silent. Dostoevsky, Becan, and Travis were not far, and soon joined their comrades. They stared at one another as the efforts of security began to take place around them.

  As Clarke limped past the hangar, he found Baranov. He lay slumped on the ground with holes gaping across his armor and back. His body was destroyed. For several seconds, Clarke simply stared. There was nothing else he could do. Then he blinked several times. Something else was there. Something was underneath him.

  It was a body.

  Clarke quickened his stumbling pace and knelt beside the commander. He strained to lift Baranov’s corpse to see who it was. Galina. She was curled into a ball on the concrete. She was alive.

  Her breaths were small, but they were there. They were stable. Immediately Clarke called out, “I need a medic over here!” He drew his focus back to Galina, rolling Baranov over to set her free.

  As Scott and Jayden returned to the hangars, Scott allowed himself a careful sweep of the airstrip. Debris and bodies were scattered. Blood was everywhere. In the aftermath of the gruesome battle, he realized the reality of the situation. Despite the victory, Novosibirsk had been hit hard. Harder than any base had been hit before.

  He saw David immediately. His former roommate was bloodstained and bruised, but he was still alive. He looked so tired. Everyone did.

  Scott knelt on the ground, and covered his eyes with his hands. He ran his fingers back through his hair and looked around again. Every operative was dirty and most had some degree of injury. Few had made it through unscathed. Scott closed his eyes and thought a prayer. It was the only appropriate one that he knew.

  Thank You for keeping me alive.

  He opened his eyes and, with great effort, forced himself up. “I tell you what, Jay…” He looked pointedly at the Texan.

  Jayden stood meters from him, his arms wrapped around the small of Varvara’s back, as the two stood locked in embrace. Varvara’s lips caressed Jayden’s mouth, as her arms slid around the back of his neck.

  Taken aback, Scott returned his attention to the airstrip. Go get her, cowboy. He laughed to himself and returned to his teammates.

  The task of collection now faced them. Little was spoken as word of the dead circulated, at which point they sought out the corpses. Once the bodies were claimed, there was nothing else to do. Those who could retire did so to the relative quiet of Room 14, where the remainder of the night was spent in restless slumber.

  21

  Sunday, May 8th, 0011 NE

  EDEN Command

  President Pauling stood with his back turned to the High Command. His arms were folded across his chest and his stern countenance scrutinized the EDEN logo on the wall monitor. Silence prevailed throughout the conference room. No whispered chatter. No Council addressor. No presentation.

  Nothing.

  Eleven of the twelve judges sat behind him, their quiet stares split between the president’s back and the black lifelessness of the round table. No papers waited on its glossy surface. There were only the hollow reflections of the High Command.

  Judge Rath broke the silence as he looked from the table to the president. As he began to speak, the judges around him edged their eyes in his direction. “Sir, there was nothing anybody could have done—”

  “I’ll tell you what could and could not have been done!” Pauling answered harshly.

  Rath sighed and resumed his quiet observance.

  “Complacency!” Pauling said. “This organization has grown complacent, and now we see the results!”

  “Sir,” Rath said, “if I may…”

  “What?”

  “Novosibirsk was defended, sir. The attack was repelled. If anything, this is a testament to our ability to react without warning.”

  Pauling drew a sharp breath. “This is a testament to the training of the Nightmen. The attack never should have happened in the first place.”

  “And who is to blame for that, sir?” Rath asked. “Who is to blame for inferior technology?”

  “We’re to blame for not finding a way around it.” Pauling’s glare targeted Judge
Iwayama, a smaller man, and one of two Japanese judges on the High Command. “What’s the progress of the Noboat Detection System?”

  Iwayama stuttered through a reply. “We…we…are still trying to—”

  Pauling pounded his hand against the table. Several judges flinched. “Trying is not acceptable! We’ve been trying for years! We need to be doing! I refuse to believe that with all the scientists and with all the engineers we have working for this organization, we still have nothing!” Iwayama was speechless as Pauling continued. “For two years, you’ve been trying! That’s not good enough!”

  Judge Malcolm Blake cleared his throat. The eyes of the Council swiveled to face the African Englishman. “With all due respect, sir, Mamoru has had his hands full heading R&D.” Iwayama looked at Blake. “And he’s done a superb job. Perhaps some delegation would speed up our progress.”

  “We have more scientists than sand on a beach,” Pauling answered. “How much more delegation do you want?”

  “But only one judge to oversee it,” Blake said. “That’s far too much to rest on one man’s shoulders. With your permission, sir, I’ll assist in the workload. I’ll pick up detection and whatever else Mamoru feels I can handle. With two of us overseeing, surely things will come to speed.”

  Pauling eyed Blake then diverted his attention to Iwayama. “Do you object to this?”

  “No sir,” Iwayama answered. “The extra help would be very good.” He looked distant for a moment. “Perhaps detection needs a new approach.”

  Pauling nodded to Blake. “You have detection and whatever else Mamoru gives you.”

  Blake smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  Pauling addressed Iwayama without looking. “Get together with Malcolm after we close, and get yourselves organized.”

  “Yes sir.”