Saving the Princess

by Helena Newbury

  “Yeah, well,” I said, “we’re about to put you in an even more difficult one.” I glanced at Kristina and we exchanged a nod.

  The ambassador paled. “If you’re going to ask what I think you’re going to ask... I can’t possibly authorize—”

  “I know,” said Kristina, stepping forward. “That’s why we need to speak to the President.”

  68

  Kristina

  The conference room had seats, but I needed to stand, for this. I needed every bit of confidence I could get.

  The big screen on the wall lit up and I saw the US President sitting behind his desk. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

  I swallowed. I had to be Queen now, more than I ever had before. I allowed myself just a single glance at Garrett. He nodded. You can do this.

  “Mr. President,” I began, “You once told me that if I ever needed help, I should come to you. Well, I’m coming to you now. There are US marines at this embassy. I’m asking you to provide us with as many as you can spare, to help us take the TV station and tell the nation the truth about what’s going on.” I laid it all out for him: Aleksander, General Novak, the assassination attempts on me and my father.

  The President leaned forward, his face somber. “You’re asking me to launch an attack with US troops in a foreign country. That’s an act of war, Your Majesty.”

  “If you don’t help us,” I said, “there’s going to be a war. The bombers are launching right now. They’ll be in Garmanian airspace within an hour. Then the war will start and once it starts, no force on earth is going to be able to stop it. Millions of innocent people are going to die. Mr. President, five years ago, when Garmania invaded, we begged for help. Europe didn’t do anything. The UN didn’t do anything. The United States didn’t do anything.”

  The President closed his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement.

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “I really don’t. I’m just asking you to not let history repeat itself.”

  “And if we do this, and you don’t succeed?” asked the President. “If US troops mount what's basically a coup against another country's leader and these people retain power? They’ll paint us as conspirators with you and Garmania. No one will trust us again.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Mr. Buchanan?”

  Garrett stepped forward. “Mr. President?”

  “You know the Queen. I'd appreciate an honest opinion. Can she pull this off? If the marines get her on TV, can she convince her people to follow her again? Can she stop the war?”

  Garrett gazed at me for a few seconds, hunting for the words. Then, “Sir, this woman's only been in power a handful of days. But she's already a better leader than any I've ever met. I'd follow her to the end.” I stared at him, overcome, my chest tight. “Sir, we need to do this,” he said. “We can’t let politics get in the way.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Not this time.”

  The President looked at me. “You're asking me to risk US lives. These are men with wives and children. Not all of them might make it back.”

  It was the part of being a leader I most feared. But I couldn’t let that fear control me anymore. “I'm aware of that, Mr. President. And I accept that responsibility, if it's the price of stopping this war.”

  The President's face softened a little, as if I’d given the right answer. “Okay then,” he said. “Let’s get this thing moving.”

  69

  Garrett

  Kristina was trying to do up the straps on her body armor, but her hands were shaking. I reached down, gently moved her hand out of the way and did them for her. But the truth was, I just wanted to tear the goddamn thing off her, pick her up and lock her in a room at the embassy. The idea of her walking right into danger terrified me.

  But I couldn’t see another way to do this. We needed her there, at the TV station, to speak to the people. I’d just have to keep her safe.

  And that was another problem: was I up to this? I was worried I was going to have another flashback and if that happened, I’d be useless. This wasn’t like the shootout on the highway, or seeing the blood seeping through the towel in the motel room. This was actual combat and I hadn’t been in combat since I was discharged. Plus, I had a head injury. A medic at the embassy had unwound the duct tape from my head, taking off some hair in the process, cleaned me up and bandaged it. But he’d been very clear that what I really needed was some time in bed, not to go into action.

  The leader of the marine squad, Master Sergeant Hadley, came over. His black hair was shaved in the classic Marine “high and tight” and he was tall, towering over Kristina. Given that he wasn’t in the best mood, the effect was... intense. “Your Majesty, I want you to understand: we don’t have the time or the manpower to hold that TV station.” He was polite but his voice was tight with worry. “We’re massively outnumbered. This is going to be an insertion, nothing more. We get you in there, but you have to work the magic once we do because we sure as hell aren’t getting out again.”

  I understood that he wasn’t being an asshole: he was just worried about his men. I turned to Kristina but she was already nodding. “I understand, Master Sergeant” she said. “And thank you and your men.” She said it with such sincerity that Hadley nodded and calmed a little. I’d met two-star Generals who couldn’t talk to the soldiers as well as she could. She was a natural.

  Eight marines, Emerik and Jakov, Kristina and I all took our places in the back of a truck. Kristina looked tiny crammed between two marines. They’d found some military fatigues that just about fit her and a pair of boots, but by the time she’d strapped on the body armor and the helmet, it looked like the uniform was going to swallow her. I reached across the aisle and squeezed her hand. “You’ll be okay,” I told her.

  She nodded, her face pale. I swore I’d protect her, whatever it took.

  As we neared the TV station there was a rumble of aircraft engines above, heading towards the border with Garmania. We peeked out of the back of the truck and saw a formation of bombers, high overhead. I looked at Kristina, who was already doing the math in her head. “We’ve got twenty minutes,” she said. “Maybe less.”

  Master Sergeant Hadley leaned over and showed us his phone. It was a live news feed, and Aleksander and General Novak were on screen, making the speech they’d wanted Kristina to make: the one declaring war on Garmania. “Hurry!” I said tightly.

  The TV station was one of those super-modern places, all glass and white stone. We went around the back first, to drop off Emerik and Jakov. They had their own, separate job and it was crucial to our success.

  Seconds later, we pulled up outside the front of the TV station. As we’d thought, there were soldiers guarding it: Aleksander knew the power of the media and he didn’t want anyone telling the people the truth.

  One by one, the marines jumped down from the truck and started shooting. I spun around and took Kristina’s face between my hands. It made my chest ache to see her so scared. “Stay low,” I told her, shouting to be heard over the gunfire. “Stay in the middle. Stay with us. I WILL protect you.” She nodded. Then she grabbed me and kissed me hard, and the press of those soft, sweet lips made me light up inside. We took a second to enjoy it: both of us knew it might be our last chance.

  Then we jumped down from the truck... and entered hell.

  70

  Kristina

  It was terrifying.

  The first floor of the TV station was one huge open plan area, filled with desks and glass partitions. The marines ran us through it towards the stairs at the back. Ran. I had shorter legs than them and I had to push myself to keep my place in the middle of the group. I didn’t want to slow them down.

  The noise was deafening. Soldiers yelling at us, marines screaming orders, glass shattering. And all around me, the constant clatter of gunfire. I wanted to clap both hands over my ears, but I couldn’t: Garrett had told me to keep one hand pressed on his back the whole time, so that he knew I was
still with him.

  He was like a charging rhino in front of me, battering things out of the way. His strong back was my shield. But I still yelped and ducked as bits of glass and wood went flying on both sides of me. Desks were being shredded, glass was crashing to the ground, computer screens were sparking and tumbling as stray bullets caught them. The marines were incredible, whipping their rifles around and picking off enemies before I’d even seen them. But Master Sergeant Hadley was right, we were hugely outnumbered. There were only ten of us and at least three times that number of them. And this was only the first floor. This is what it’s like to be a soldier? How did Garrett do this every day?!

  The marine behind me suddenly yelled a warning and pushed me to the left. Then he cried out and spun around, falling to his knees. Hot red erupted out of the side of his neck and splattered me. Then he clamped a hand over it and I saw blood pumping between his fingers. Oh Jesus!

  Another marine grabbed his arm and helped him to a side room. Our group reformed, with me in the middle again, and we moved off. But my eyes were locked on the open door to the side room as the marine’s buddy struggled with gauze and bandages, trying to stop the bleeding. He took that bullet for me! I’m getting people killed! I wanted to weep. I never wanted any of this!

  But if I didn’t keep going, millions were going to die.

  We reached the stairs and started up them. The studio Aleksander was broadcasting from was up on the fourth floor. The marines were far better trained than the Lakovian soldiers and at first we had the element of surprise. We made it up to the second floor, then the third. But then our momentum started to fade: the soldiers were organizing and holding their ground. Another marine was wounded as we tried to cross the third floor. Then two more fell. Our group had shrunk by half. I saw Garrett’s face change, his jaw tight with tension. Our progress stopped completely. We’re not going to make it!

  Suddenly, something smacked me in the chest. It was as if someone had punched me right in the middle of my body but I hadn’t seen anyone. I fell flat on my back.

  I saw Garrett scream in rage and fire his rifle at someone on the other side of the room. I realized he was shooting the person who shot me.

  The person who shot me. It echoed in my head. Oh God, I’ve been shot!

  And then the pain hit me, spreading through my chest. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  Garrett turned, crouched... and suddenly I was being scooped up off the ground. He cradled me to his chest like a child, holding his rifle in his other hand, and ran with me through the room. I clung to him, my head on his shoulder, my whole torso throbbing.

  There was a crash as he kicked over a desk. Then he gently laid me down behind it, where I was shielded from gunfire. The other marines fell back and joined us in our shelter.

  Garrett hunkered down over me, searching my body armor for something. Then his big hands thrust underneath it and felt my body. I saw his shoulders slump in relief. “It’s okay,” he yelled over the gunfire. “It’s okay, you’re okay. The armor stopped it.”

  I was too scared and in too much pain to answer.

  “I know, it hurts like a son of a bitch. But you’ll be okay.” He leaned down and kissed me. Even amidst the gunfire and the destruction, as soon as his big body pressed close, I felt safe. I closed my eyes and for one brief, glorious second just allowed his kiss to take me away from everything.

  He drew back and spoke in Master Sergeant Hadley’s ear. Hadley nodded in agreement and the two of them looked above us. The room we were in was double-height, overlooked by balconies on the fourth floor. And someone was shooting down at us from those balconies. That’s who had shot me. That’s why we’d stopped moving.

  “Three men,” yelled Garrett. “What’s left of Lukin’s kill team. I recognize one of the bastards. He’s got them all up there, to make sure we don’t get to the studio. Someone has to sneak up there and take them out, or we’re stuck here.”

  My eyes widened as I realized who someone was. “No!” I had this horrible, lurching certainty that if he left, he wasn’t coming back.

  “I have to.”

  “At least take some men with you!”

  He shook his head and glanced at the remaining marines. There were only three left. “We need them to protect you.”

  I gulped. The room had gone blurry. “Please don’t leave me!”

  “I promise I’ll come back.” He leaned down and kissed me. Then he turned, ran out from behind the table, and was gone.

  71

  Garrett

  I needed to get back to her. Every second I was away from her felt like a year. What if she’d been shot again, and the armor didn’t stop it, this time? What if she was lying there wounded, right now, and I wasn’t there?

  I growled and pushed on. To save her, I had to do this. I’d made my way up the back staircase to the fourth floor and now I was... I guess the word would be backstage, amongst all the electronics that made the studio work. It was like being in a forest, with thick trunks of computer servers and thousands of cables stretched between them. I threaded my way silently through and finally came out near one of the balconies that looked down onto the third floor. Right in front of me was one of Lukin’s men. He was firing down at the third floor and—

  My chest tightened. He was shooting at the table Kristina was sheltering behind.

  I growled and ran at him like a charging bull. He heard me coming and turned around just in time to get my fist in his face. He staggered back against the balcony wall and I ducked down and grabbed his legs, helping him on his way. He screamed as he tumbled over the side and crashed to the floor below. That’s one.

  I disappeared back into the racks of computers and circled around to the next guy. But then it all went wrong. He’d been alerted by his buddy’s scream and saw me as soon as I left the shelter of the computers and started shooting. I had to run for cover as bullets slammed into the computers all around, shattering plastic and puncturing metal. There was the sharp smell of ozone and then acrid smoke as things shorted out. White-hot sparks showered across the floor and I grunted as some of them struck my wrist.

  I came to a stop hunkered down behind a rack of computer servers, wincing as the gunman pumped shots into them from the other side. I don’t have time for this! I had to get back to Kristina. But the gunman was just waiting for me to emerge. As soon as I came out from behind the servers, I was dead. Brute force wouldn’t cut it, for once. I had to think.

  And then, glancing around at the server racks, I realized they were all on wheels, so they could be moved around.

  I crouched down, making sure I didn’t let anything poke out from behind my cover, and flipped up the little brakes that stopped the wheels from moving. And then I heaved, putting all my strength into it.

  I heard the gunman falter as the server rack he was firing at started to roll towards him. I kept pushing. We started to pick up speed and I heard the gunman take a step backwards. He fired three more shots but they just sunk into the metal of the heavy computer servers. I pushed harder, almost running, now, nudging the thing left and right, aiming at where the sound was coming from—

  I felt the impact as the servers thumped into the guy. Then a second later, a scream as they slammed him back against the balcony. I didn’t know if he was injured or dead, but he was out of the fight. That’s two….

  A rifle butt caught me in the back of my bandaged head and I went down like a felled tree. My brain was suddenly one big, throbbing ball of pain. All I could see was white and all I could hear was a thin, shrill screech.

  I nearly threw up. I managed to get my hands under me and tried to pry myself off the floor, but it felt like I weighed a thousand tons. I gritted my teeth and managed to turn myself over and looked up at—

  I could see two of him, his face just an outline, black lines on blinding white. But I knew that slicked-back hair. Silvas Lukin.

  He drew back his leg and kicked me in my kidneys. The pain rippled up my body
and when it reached my head, it felt like it exploded.

  I tried to get my feet under me but my head hurt so much, it wouldn’t send the right messages to my limbs. I just lay there, slumped. Then he kicked me again and my whole body went limp.

  I was done.

  He could have just shot me while I was down, but no: he wanted it to hurt as much as possible. He raised his rifle above his head, ready to bring it down on me like a club. “We should have killed her in the war when we had the chance!” he spat.

  And then I got mad.

  I thought of my dad. I thought of the marines who’d been wounded, just that day, and the FBI agents back in America, and all the millions who’d die when the war started. I thought about those children he’d killed in the church. Most of all, I thought about Kristina, locked in that cell, filling with water. All because bastards like this decide some other race, or nation, or tribe, is inferior.

  He swung the rifle at my head. My hand snapped up and caught the stock, stopping it an inch from my skull. His eyes bulged in sudden fear and he tried to tear it away from me, but I was stronger. Both of us heaved... and then both of us lost our grip on it and the rifle went spinning off across the floor.

  I grabbed hold of some dangling cables and with sheer, stubborn determination, I used them to haul myself up, first to my knees and then to standing. I felt like I was on the rolling deck of a ship. The whole room was still throbbing white in time with my pulse. I could barely see or think. But I was going to stop him, no matter what. I was going to protect her.