The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2

by Nathan M. Farrugia

  The Liberator’s razor-sharp leg clamped down on her. She rolled to one side. The leg smashed the tiled floor and struck at her again. She rolled clear, away from the balcony that overlooked the train station. The Liberator twisted and opened fire, but the only sound was the clicking of parts no longer working properly. The EMP had fucked its loading mechanism.

  ‘Hey!’ Jay yelled, waving his rifle to get its attention.

  Its operator must have heard him because the Liberator swiveled to face him. Jay fired at its sensors. Sparks danced across its armored surface as it strode toward him with large magnificent steps.

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ he said.

  He scrambled to get clear but it was on him in seconds. One of its legs lashed out. He ducked under the leg and rolled under the robot itself. He considered aiming up into its belly but didn’t have time. As soon as the Liberator lifted another leg, he’d be sliced in half.

  He kept moving, rolling out from under it and running for the balcony. He reached the glass balustrade and turned as the Liberator pounced on him, its foremost legs poised like spears. He ducked as the legs smashed through the glass, then slid under it again. It lost its footing and tumbled over the balustrade. He looked down to see it topple into the train station, colliding with the suspended Learjet and severing one of its cables. Jay took his SCAR in both hands and moved quickly toward the edge. The Liberator hit the train station floor on its side. From up here, it looked fragile, incapable of harming anything.

  Directly below him, Nasira was pulling herself to her feet. She’d fallen into the garden arrangement, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing. She held her rifle in both hands and seemed injury-free.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jay said.

  ‘Fuck me being OK. Shoot that rust-bucket!’

  The Liberator was trying to get to its feet, two of its legs moving with surprising flexibility, and he remembered they could right themselves from almost any fallen position. He aimed at the eyelet holding the dangling Learjet by its remaining cable and fired a burst. He missed the steel cable. Nasira joined him, her rounds hitting home and tearing the eyelet from the wall. The Learjet fell on top of the Liberator, pinning it down.

  ‘That won’t hold for long,’ she said, jumping down from the garden onto the train platform.

  She stood a safe distance away and emptied her magazine into the Liberator. It stopped wriggling. Jay jumped down onto the garden, then onto the platform beside her.

  ‘Take your time,’ she said. ‘Where there’s one motherfucker—’

  ‘There’s bound to be more,’ Jay said. ‘I know.’

  ***

  A gust of wind howled through the access tunnel, chilling Damien’s arms. The tunnel was a two-lane road that could have been mistaken for any motorway tunnel in America, except it maintained a higher air pressure to stop the smoke and fumes from getting into the service tunnels it connected to. The walls were rocky earth, curving up to a ceiling lined with pipes of various sizes and shapes. The ceiling lights were dead, so everyone except Grace needed to use torches. Grace was ahead of the team, cloaked and scouting for possible threats with her infrared vision.

  The tunnel curved slowly to the left and down until it reached the south blast door, placed at a right angle to the tunnel. Damien took Sophia’s daypack with all four EMP devices inside it, then he cuffed and blindfolded her. DC steered her with a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in the center of the team.

  The blast door was open just as Denton had said it would be, which Damien was relieved about since it weighed 50,000 pounds and was designed to withstand a nuclear strike. Or at least a nearby nuclear strike.

  As they moved through the open blast door, he was surprised to find only two Blue Berets standing guard.

  ‘Where’s security command?’ he snapped at the Blue Beret on his side. He already knew the location, but needed to sound like a Blue Beret detachment who wasn’t familiar with the base.

  The guard hesitated. ‘Straight ahead, first left.’

  He made no attempt to scan their RFID chips.

  Damien turned to Grace. ‘Let’s move.’

  Grace fell into step with him and he was conscious of the rest of his team falling into step behind. The Blue Beret at the blast door would be radioing their presence in to his XO at security command. That was fine, as long as he was convinced they were genuine.

  They were inside the OpCenter now, an underground citadel of concrete, steel and the Seraphim super-array. The corridor looked no different from those at Desecheo Island or any of the numerous Fifth Column bases and installations he’d previously been stationed at. High ceilings, glossy white linoleum floors, banks of fluorescent lights and clusters of pipes weaving along the ceiling.

  They passed the barracks on the right and a string of labs on the left. Security command was next up on the left. From the map, he knew the OpCenter was deceptively large. It had its own dining facility, hospital, dental surgery and pharmacy, two gyms, a sauna, a barber, bakery and its own self-contained shopping mall. It was also home to many sub-levels of R&D and military operations, all of which he wanted to steer very clear of.

  Grace fell back into line and was replaced by Abraham. It was best to keep her face hidden just in case she was on a watch list along with Sophia.

  Damien did the talking as they walked into security command. Three Blue Berets at the bank of computers, one of them an officer. Another two on his left, three on his right.

  ‘Are you in charge?’ Damien called out to the officer.

  The man wore a golden oak leaf insignia on his shoulder and moved like a robot.

  ‘Major,’ he said, his ice blue eyes inspecting Damien’s prisoner with great interest. ‘And who do we have here?’

  ‘Sir, this is a high-priority target,’ Damien said. ‘Sophia.’

  ‘Remove the blindfold,’ the major said.

  Abraham did as the major instructed.

  ‘Why, hello there,’ the major said, unsmiling.

  Sophia kept her gaze below the major’s while Damien pretended to check her restraints. What he actually did was sever them with the blade she had concealed in her waistband.

  ‘Are you Sophia?’ the major asked.

  ‘Your deduction skills are very impressive,’ Sophia said.

  ‘We caught her impersonating a Blue Beret, sir,’ Damien said.

  The major chuckled quietly. ‘I can’t believe she thought that would work.’

  With one hand, he gripped her chin tightly and inspected both sides of her face. He extracted her covert earpiece and held it up for Damien to see.

  ‘Are you forgetting something, sergeant?’ the major said, pleased with himself.

  ‘We missed it, sir,’ Damien said.

  ‘This makes me wonder what else you missed,’ the major said.

  DC flashed a humorless smile. ‘This.’ His tachi sword glinted in the air and cut the major’s throat.

  Sophia had shut her eyes just in time as blood splashed over her face. Damien did the same. Blood burned when it got in your eyes and he didn’t particularly want to be blinded at this crucial point in the operation. Behind him, Denton was working fast. He placed the General’s silicon thumbprint on the door’s security panel. It slid shut.

  Damien aimed his pistol and dropped the two Blue Berets at the computers. Grace took out the pair on his right. Damien shifted his aim, covering the room. By this time there were no Blue Berets left standing. And no one on their team was injured.

  He turned to see Grace hand Sophia a Glock pistol. DC was standing over a dead Blue Beret, scarlet-slicked tachi blade in one hand, pistol in the other.

  Sophia began firing off orders. ‘Clear the bodies. Now!’

  Everyone got to work, sliding the bodies to the corners of the room, hiding them wherever they could. Some left crimson smears, but that couldn’t be helped.

  ‘Grace, lock down the barracks,’ Sophia said. ‘I don’t want any reinforcements joining the party.’

  W
ithout a word, Grace moved for the computers, her fingers attacking a keyboard.

  Sophia took her backpack from Damien and joined her a moment later. Damien watched her unpack an EMP device but she didn’t arm it yet.

  ‘Denton, Chickenhead, get ready for the Seraphim super-array,’ she said. ‘Further down, on your right. This level.’

  Denton nodded curtly. He stood by the door, Magpul in both hands. Chickenhead grabbed an EMP device, fingers trembling.

  ‘Abraham, you know your orders?’ Sophia said.

  The colonel moved toward the door, his men at his side. ‘Ready and willing.’

  She handed him an EMP device and then turned to Damien. ‘You and Grace need to hold this chamber, is that understood?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ Damien said.

  ‘Close it once we move out,’ Sophia said. ‘And don’t open it again until we radio you or we knock four times.’

  Their radios should work within the OpCenter, providing everyone was on the same level.

  ‘Barracks are sealed,’ Grace called out.

  Good, Damien thought. That locked out the Blue Berets—all except any patrols.

  Sophia set the timer, strapped on a Blue Beret helmet and moved for the door. Denton took the fourth EMP device.

  ‘Always handy to have a spare,’ he said.

  Sophia didn’t argue. With his Magpul wedged under one arm, Denton pressed the silicon fingerprint to the door’s security panel. The door retracted. The corridor was clear outside.

  ‘Move out,’ Sophia said.

  Denton handed the silicon fingerprint to Grace. In return, she gave him her last EMP grenade, in addition to the EMP device he had taken. He slipped the small grenade into a pouch on his vest.

  When it was just Grace and Damien left in security command, Grace used the fingerprint to seal the door shut again.

  ‘Still deciding if it’s a good or a bad thing that we’re sealing ourselves in the OpCenter’s security station,’ Damien said.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Jay and Nasira reached the newly constructed hotel plaza, just south of Jeppesen terminal. The ceiling was a gleaming white ribcage that arched eighty feet over their heads. The speckled white floor extended seamlessly onto the rail platforms for the connecting train line. When the trains arrived, they’d slot themselves neatly into the plaza floor, but for now the platforms were empty. Beyond them Jay could see the skyline and the train tunnel beneath it. No sign of SWAT or military here. That was good.

  On his left, two sets of escalators led to the upper plaza. He walked up one, taking the steps two at a time. Nasira followed him. The upper level looked like something out of Star Trek, although Jay would never admit to watching it. It had the same ribbed white ceiling, a centerpiece fountain and an ultra-wide viewing port that looked out onto the city of Denver.

  ‘Freeze,’ a voice said from above.

  Jay peered up the wide curling staircase. A cluster of carbines were pointed in his direction. A squadron of Abraham’s men. They lowered their weapons when they recognized him and Nasira.

  Jay moved with Nasira up the stairs toward them.

  ‘We have Aviary, she’s safe on level four,’ a squadron member said.

  ‘Do you have any EMP grenades?’ Nasira asked. ‘Incendiary grenades, anything?’

  The squadron leader shook his head. ‘Two have M320s, a few rounds. Why?’

  ‘We have a fuckload of Liberators coming our way,’ Jay said. ‘That’s why.’

  The squadron leader looked confused. ‘What the hell are they?’

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ Nasira said.

  As soon as Jay reached the upper level—the hotel lobby—he looked around for something they could use, anything.

  Nasira said to the squadron leader, ‘Can you make a tripwire?’

  He rapped his knuckles across his M4 carbine. ‘I can do that and more. 10th Special Forces Group, twelve years,’ he said. ‘Name’s Aaron.’

  ‘I’m Nasira, this is Jay,’ she said. ‘I need you and whoever can help to grab as many fire extinguishers as we can find.’

  ‘We’ll make it happen,’ Aaron said.

  ‘We might just survive this yet.’ Nasira turned to Jay. ‘Any ideas, Einstein?’

  ‘Where’s the hotel kitchen?’ Jay called out as the squadron split off around him.

  One of the men pointed east. ‘Down there, on the left.’

  Together, Jay and Nasira ran for the restaurant. There wasn’t much time to waste. In the dining area, there were tables and chairs ready for customers, and the kitchen was new and waiting to be used. Jay searched it for anything that might help them. He found two dozen 22-gallon drums of vegetable oil. He didn’t need to say anything, Nasira knew exactly what he was thinking.

  He yelled out to whoever could hear them. ‘We need help here!’

  Three men came running, carbines in both hands. Jay steered them toward the two dozen drums.

  ‘All of these, to the stairs!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Now!’

  She disappeared into the bar and returned with bottles of spirits under both arms and a tablecloth draped over her shoulder like a giant scarf.

  Jay picked up a drum of oil, lifted it over one shoulder and joined the other men as they ferried them to the stairs. There were five fire extinguishers waiting there, collected by the squadron. Nasira dropped to her knees and started preparing the bottles of alcohol with shredded tablecloth as fuses, while Aaron got stuck into the tripwires with lengths of fishing line. When Jay returned with a second drum, they’d both moved down the stairs to set up the tripwires with fire extinguishers.

  ‘Guys!’ Jay said, drawing the squadron’s attention. ‘We need to cover the floor down there in oil. Pour from the balcony! Go!’

  He opened the valve on a drum and leaned it over the balustrade. The golden oil poured with a satisfying glugging sound to pool on the foyer below. Around him, the rest of the squadron emptied their drums. In less than a minute, they’d coated the floor around the stairs. The oil continued to expand outward, coating half the plaza. Jay moved to a second drum, wishing the spout was larger so it would pour faster. At this rate, it would take them a good ten minutes to empty all the drums.

  Aaron was moving up the stairs toward Nasira’s stash of molotov cocktails.

  ‘Get your men in position, this is our chokepoint,’ Jay told him, pointing at the two rows of escalators the vegetable oil was just starting to reach. ‘Make sure everyone has lighters and molotovs.’

  He leaned over the balcony to see Nasira position a tripwire so the fishing line ran in front of the escalators. ‘Nasira, we good to go?’

  ‘Almost!’ she called back.

  Jay heard a thump-thump-thump sound from below. He looked down and saw the hexagonal body of a Liberator bobbing up the escalator. Nasira was still at the top, fiddling with the tripwire. She didn’t even have her SCAR with her.

  ‘Liberator!’ Jay yelled. ‘Nasira, move!’

  The Liberator reached the top of the escalator and snagged the fishing line. A fire extinguisher flared into action, dousing both Nasira and the Liberator in a white cloud.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ Jay yelled.

  The Liberator opened up with deafening gunfire, sweeping across the balcony from west to east and chipping through marble and granite. Jay hit the ground. The EMP had disabled the automatic loader of the Liberator they’d encountered in Concourse C, but this one was wielding a belt-fed weapon. Since the belt was already loaded, the mounted weapon worked just fine.

  ‘Draw its fire!’ Jay yelled. ‘I can take the shot!’

  ‘Drawing fire!’ Aaron called from the west balcony.

  His shots didn’t go anywhere near the Liberator or Nasira, but were enough to distract the robot. It punched rounds through the balustrade and into the wall.

  Jay moved to one knee, adjusted to infrared and sighted the Liberator with his SCAR. The Liberator’s M240 machine gun was pintle-mounted on the side. A short burst fro
m the SCAR and his rounds struck the belt feeder. He ducked again as the Liberator adjusted its aim. A torrent of 7.62mm rounds decimated the balustrade around him.

  He crawled south along the balcony, seeking more cover. The Liberator had stopped firing. He risked a glance and noticed the belt feeder had been smashed clean off the machine gun. Nasira was ten feet away, sliding across the oil-slicked floor, weaponless.

  A second Liberator clambered up the escalator and headed straight for her. Jay moved to open fire but this operator was smarter. He washed the balcony with gunfire while advancing on Nasira.

  Jay checked the fireteam on his side. Two were seeking cover, surrounded by molotovs. Jay waved them away. Nasira would be caught in the blaze if they lobbed one now. A third was slumped against a pillar, oozing deoxygenated blood from his chest. His M4 carbine had an M320 grenade launcher mounted underneath and he was wearing a bandolier of grenades over one shoulder. The M320 was the successor to the M203 launcher Jay had used many times during his time in Project GATE, but this one looked like someone had glued a submachine gun under the barrel of the carbine, creating some sort of bizarre dual weapon.

  Jay wriggled across the floor and snatched the carbine, abandoning his SCAR. He checked the breach on the side, found a 40mm grenade already chambered. It was clumsy to use, and with the electronic targeting system fried he had to line up the Liberator with a separate iron sight on the side of the carbine instead of on top.

  The Liberator was almost on Nasira. Too close for Jay’s liking. A third Liberator was climbing the escalator.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Jay muttered. ‘Grenade!’ he yelled, mostly for Nasira’s benefit.

  He fired the high-explosive grenade. It struck the Liberator front-on and detonated on impact.

  The second Liberator, moments away from skewering Nasira, spotted him and launched itself nimbly to the balcony. Jay hadn’t expected the Liberators to have such agility given they were weighted machines lugging heavy support weapons. But the robot landed impressively on the half-destroyed balustrade, ten feet away.

  A chill ran through his body. He couldn’t grab another grenade and load it in time. He did the only thing he could do: he tossed the M4 at the Liberator’s head and jumped over the balcony, kicking his SCAR over the side with him, into the fountain below. He landed in a crouch and rolled through the water, stayed low and searched the water for his SCAR.