by Lee Stephen
Svetlana said nothing.
“You see? You can do this. You have done it already, just in a different way.” Her hand slid from Svetlana’s knee. “You had a warm welcome in the room, before David ruined it by being a jerk. Do not let one bitter man crush your spirits.”
“David is a father,” Svetlana said, looking away. For the first time, her tone was controlled. “He sees this in a way the rest of us do not. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s not. I don’t know anymore.”
“Do you believe he is right?”
Svetlana stared at the younger medic. “I believe Scott is a good man. I have told myself that so many times. I have to believe it—I must.”
Varvara affirmed. “The rest of us believe that as well. You shared something with Scott that none of us did. You can touch him—reach him. That is why you are here.” She tried to smile. “It is not up to you to comfort the rest of us. You worry about him. Believe me, if you can do that, it will bring us comfort enough.”
“He told me I should have stayed away.” Svetlana pressed her hands to her forehead, where her fingers disappeared in her hair. “I did not expect him to say that.”
“This will not be easy. I never said it would be. But ask yourself if you want to help him. Do you have that desire?”
Svetlana didn’t answer right away. She only stared back, deep in thought.
“Do you?”
Finally, she sighed. “Yes, I do.”
“Good. Because if you would have said no, I would have felt very guilty for sending you that letter.”
“You should feel guilty.” Svetlana offered her a forced grin. “You know I am joking.”
A moment of quiet passed before Varvara went on. “You should go see the captain. He will be wondering where you are. You have had too much emotion since you’ve been here. You need someone to talk about business.”
“I will go see him now,” Svetlana said, wiping her eyes and nodding.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“He will be happy to see you. He might hug you.”
“Might he really?”
“He has been desperate for any good news. You’re the best news he’s had in three months. But most likely, he will just give you a briefing. There is much for him to tell you about.”
Svetlana rose to continue her trek. “That’s fine with me. At least this will give me something else to think about.”
“I will leave you to that, then,” Varvara said. “Jayden and I are going into Novosibirsk today, but will I see you again later?”
“Of course.”
“I look forward to it.” Varvara watched Svetlana for several moments, then the younger medic offered another hug. She whispered, “This was not a mistake. Just keep saying it to yourself, and you will believe it.”
Svetlana nodded in silence.
“Now go see the captain.”
“I will.”
With no further words, the medics parted ways.
When Svetlana arrived at Clarke’s quarters, she found Varvara’s prediction partially correct. She received a friendly welcome back, minus a hug, followed by a recapping of the past months’ events. The meeting was strictly professional, and Svetlana took it well.
She asked for and received full medical records, then left to go to the infirmary. Though she had not seen it since its reconstruction after the Assault on Novosibirsk, she assumed it was the best place for a medic to study. She wasn’t wrong.
She examined health records, scheduled examinations, and memorized new names. She familiarized herself with her role. She did her job.
It was the first thing that felt real all day.
6
Sunday, November 6, 0011 NE
1959 hours
That night
The call to action couldn’t have come fast enough. Scott stormed into the hangar, assault rifle firmly gripped in both hands, the horns of his fulcrum armor streaking back past his shoulders. Barely a moment after he’d entered, he was caught from behind by slayers Nicolai and Egor.
“What is the mission, lieutenant?”
“A Bakma Carrier and multiple Coneships have landed in Krasno-yarsk.”
Nicolai grinned crookedly. “Beautiful!”
Beautiful wasn’t the word that Scott would have used. Overdue, maybe. Welcomed, absolutely. The whole day had been a test of his willpower. After avoiding Svetlana and the rest of the unit, and spending the middle of the day grudgingly getting sleep, he looked forward to firing a weapon.
Several others were already waiting by the Pariah. Max was the first to approach Scott. “We got somethin’ heavy, man. Command says three city blocks are completely engulfed. It’s an all-out attack.”
It was a frigid night; winter was at its worst. “Where’s Clarke?”
“Right there.”
Scott turned to the hangar’s entrance. The captain was indeed coming in. But he was not alone. Svetlana was walking in step with him. Scott looked away.
“What other units are coming?” Nicolai asked Max.
“We’re in the initial callout. But the Eighth, the Thirty-fifth, and the Thirty-ninth are going as well. Thoor’s not pulling any punches.”
“He never does.”
The Eighth. Scott drew a heavy breath. That was William and Derrick’s unit, led by Captain Ulrich. William and Derrick still ate with their friends from the Fourteenth, in spite of what happened in Khatanga. But Scott wasn’t a part of that group. “Travis, I want a full layout of the target area, down to the cracks in the road.”
“Already coming, sir.”
Dostoevsky approached from behind. Viktor and Auric were at his heels. “Lieutenant Remington.”
Scott didn’t grace the commander with a response.
“What are we going into?” the slick-haired Viktor asked.
Nicolai thrust his hand in the air. “Dead bodies! Much fire and blood.”
“Sounds like your idea of a date.”
“We are going to Krasnoyarsk,” Dostoevsky said. “At least one Carrier and several Coneships. They have apparently launched an assault against the city.”
Scott had never been to Krasnoyarsk, but he’d heard of it. It was the third-largest city in Siberia—right along the Yenisei River. Forests, hills, and giant rock cliffs to the south surrounded it. The city was heavily built. It used to serve as a military city in the Old Era, though the bases there had been renovated for industrial use. Nonetheless, it had a formidable police force. It was supposedly a breeding ground for Nightman recruits.
When Clarke and Svetlana drew near, Scott deliberately looked away.
“I take it you’re aware of our situation,” Clarke said.
“Yes, captain,” said Dostoevsky. He looked at Svetlana; she glared back without blinking.
“Very well.” Clarke walked past Scott into the Pariah. Svetlana followed him inside.
As soon as they were gone, Nicolai grinned. “She is very attractive. I am glad she has decided to join us.”
Scott tensed. Those words made his veins burn. He looked Nicolai straight in the eyes. “If you touch her—listen carefully—I will kill you.”
His words struck the Nightmen like a blow. They all stopped and stared.
Nicolai said nothing for several moments, before finally nodding. “Yes, lieutenant. I hear what you say.”
The moment Svetlana stepped inside the Pariah, her arms broke out in goose bumps. For several seconds she stood in the bay door. Then she stared at the wall-mounted speaker. The last place she’d heard her boyfriend Anatoly’s voice.
Becan was right beside her. “Hey…yeh all righ’?”
She swallowed. “Yes.” The words were barely above whispers. “It has been a long time.”
Becan squeezed her shoulder and made his way in.
Most of the operatives had already taken their seats by the time Svetlana claimed one of her own. She held her helmet in her hands as the Nightmen filtered in and sat down. Though she occas
ionally glanced Scott’s direction, his eyes never met hers.
Esther watched Svetlana silently from her own seat, until her stare caught the medic’s attention.
Svetlana smiled as warmly as she could. “You must be Molly.”
Esther froze. Her eyes widened.
“Molly?” said Becan.
Svetlana hesitated. “You are Molly, right? Molly Brooking, from Cambridge?”
“Molly Brooking?” The Irishman looked puzzled.
“That is the name on your medical records,” Svetlana frowned apprehensively. “Is it not correct?”
Esther’s face flushed cherry red. She looked down at her boots, furiously tightening her straps. Her voice trembled with irritation. “Yes, it’s correct. I’m Molly Brooking.”
“Your name is Molly?” Becan asked, his voice rising.
“Yes, Becan! I don’t think everyone heard you—would you please try again?” Her sarcasm was thinly veiled.
Svetlana covered her mouth. “I am so sorry—do you not go by Molly?”
“I go by my middle name,” Esther quietly answered.
Becan slowly put it together. “Molly…Esther.”
“Yes,” the Briton murmured. “Molly Esther.”
“Hey! D’yeh know wha’ tha’ sounds like?”
“Let me guess! Molly Esther? Polyester? ‘Molly Polyester!’ Becan, that’s bloody wonderful! You’re so brilliant. Because believe me, I never heard that for the first seventeen years of my life!”
The cabin fell awkwardly quiet.
Scott sat in the back of the troop bay, surrounded by his Nightman comrades. He contemplated the situation in silence, his eyes focused in the distance and his elbows propped on his knees.
According to the log of the mission so far, the city’s EDEN stations were occupied with the Bakma Carrier, leaving few forces to defend other areas. Local police were effective but outmanned, leaving several hotspots almost defenseless. That was where the Fourteenth came in. They would hit what the stations couldn’t.
He’d seen the map he’d requested from Travis. He knew what his Nightmen would face. They’d be among the first to drop down, on the western end of the city. A strike team of Bakma had captured a multiple-story building. Hostages were involved, but he didn’t know how many.
That part made it a challenge, because hostages were not the Nightmen’s forte. Their specialty came in outright brutality. Strike hard and violently. That kind of recklessness didn’t work well with civilian lives. Already Scott was considering the tools he had to work with.
Egor Goronok. The freak. A tower of muscles so grotesque, the sight of him was enough to cause psychological dread. He was Scott’s human wrecking ball. Had he been with EDEN, he would have been a model demolitionist.
Auric Broll. The competent. Unlike Egor, the German slayer wasn’t a brute. He was consistent; he could do any job well. Scott only had to tell Auric something once.
Nicolai Romanov. The supplementary. He was their jack of all trades, masterful at nothing but adept at everything. No one made a better complement. No one made more of a creep.
Viktor Ryvkin. The cunning. The slayer-medic wielded his intelligence like a sword. That tenacity made him one of Scott’s most able slayers. It also made him the most dangerous.
Then Yuri Dostoevsky. Their commander. But EDEN rank aside, both he and Scott were fulcrum elites. In the eyes of the slayers, both men were equal. But were they equally adhered to? Not even close. Scott was more intelligent—more gifted. Every slayer in the Fourteenth knew it. There was a time when Dostoevsky’s physical prowess had been enough to make his authority unchallengeable. But whatever edge the commander still had, it wasn’t nearly as much as it had once been. If given a choice, Scott knew whom the slayers would follow. Dostoevsky wasn’t even in the running.
Clarke spoke from the front of the Pariah. “By this point, you should be aware of our mission. We shall be undergoing a cooperative defense of Krasnoyarsk with the Eighth, Thirty-fifth, and Thirty-ninth.”
Becan leaned close to Jayden. “Yeh know wha’ I miss abou’ Chicago? I could pronounce it.”
“We shall divide into three teams for three distinct operations. The first team to drop will be Commander Dostoevsky’s.”
Behind the captain, the display screen showed their targeted structure. Scott had seen the image up close already. It wasn’t as detailed as would have preferred—it never was. Multiple stories, and some kind of tower. For a military city, this wasn’t surprising. There were probably lots of buildings with towers. But he was fully prepared for whatever it was.
“A Russian orthodox church has been captured as a stronghold…”
Scott’s heart stopped. The captain’s remaining words turned to static. Scott spoke without even a thought. “Did you say a church?”
Clarke stopped in mid-explanation. “That’s correct.”
That was the one thing Scott hadn’t expected. His stomach started to ache.
“You will go into a church, won’t you, Mr. Remington?”
For a moment, he couldn’t find any words. When he finally did, his voice was grave. “Of course, captain.”
Clarke eyed him before going on.
The rest of the captain’s words were completely lost to Scott. His focus fell away from the view screen, and he stared blankly at the floor.
“Lieutenant?” The hushed word came from Auric. The blond-haired German sat at his side. “Are you okay?”
Scott had no explanation for his despondency—at least none he was willing to share. “Yes, I’m fine.” Forcing himself into combat mode, he resumed listening to the captain.
Clarke would lead a team consisting of David, Esther, Jayden, and Svetlana into a warehouse. Resistance was expected to be manageable. The warehouse was a tall building, in view of several streets that the Thirty-fifth would be traversing in the distance. It was the perfect opportunity for Jayden to snipe. All the others had to do was secure the warehouse itself.
Max’s operation was slightly more difficult. He would be leading Becan, Oleg, Maksim, and Varvara into a federal building with known hostages. It was a coordinated effort with a team from the Thirty-ninth. Enemy presence was expected to be high.
Scott and the Nightmen would tackle the church.
Across the troop bay, Esther aggressively checked her sidearm.
“You all righ’, Esty?” Becan asked.
“Of course I’m all right—why wouldn’t I be all right?” She tried to slam in a clip, but misjudged her aim. She jarred it in place a second time.
“Well, judgin’ from the fact tha’ yeh can’t seem to properly load your handgun…”
“She did it on purpose.”
The Irishman eyed her strangely. “Wha’?”
“I haven’t gone by Molly in years. Not for applications, not for Academy registration, not for anything.”
“Wait, are you still goin’ on abou’ tha’?”
“If your name was Molly Esther, would you want anyone to know?”
“If my name was Molly Esther, I’d have serious testosterone problems.”
She turned away. “You’re an idiot.”
“Esty, they’re medical records. O’ course they’ll have your full name. I mean, wha’ did yeh expect?”
“Then why didn’t Galina or Varvara call me Molly? Why didn’t the captain? I filled my forms out with Esther, I introduced myself as Esther. I specifically marked Esther as my preferred name. That is what I wanted to be called—it was perfectly clear.”
“Well, you an’ Svetlana were never introduced, so congratulations! Now yeh are.”
“I could punch you in the face.”
Scott was examining the mission map when Viktor Ryvkin broke away from the Nightmen. He walked straight to the captain, prompting Scott and the other Nightmen to observe curiously.
“Captain, may I make a request?”
Clarke looked surprisingly at the slayer. “You may, Ryvkin.”
“I would like to
accompany your team to the warehouse.”
The moment Viktor said it, the other Nightmen froze. Dostoevsky rose, and Scott abandoned his map scrutiny.
Viktor continued. “You may need more firepower than you expect, captain. We have enough firepower among the Nightmen. As you know, I am as much a medic as I am a soldier. I would gladly assist you.”
Dostoevsky approached them. “Viktor, what are you doing?”
Clarke looked at Dostoevsky, then settled on Viktor. “If you come with us, your fellow Nightmen won’t have a medic.”
“They could take Voronova.”
At the mention of Svetlana’s name, the EDEN operatives in the vicinity whipped around. Esther was particularly entranced. Scott was plain floored. But no one looked more surprised than Svetlana herself.
“So you wish to trade yourself with Trooper Voronova?” Clarke asked. “You’ll excuse me if I’m somewhat confused.”
“This unit has gone through enough turmoil,” Viktor said. “It is time for us to start working together. Then we all will be strong. You do not need to worry about Voronova’s safety. She will be more safe with them than anywhere else.”
Svetlana drew near. “What is going on here? What are you talking about?”
Clarke continued to look at Viktor as he answered her question. “Mr. Ryvkin wishes to take your place on our team and put you with the commander in his stead.” Before Svetlana could speak, Clarke turned to Dostoevsky. “Do you oppose this?”
“Wait, wait,” Scott said. “Hold on one second.”
“Commander Dostoevsky?” Clarke asked again.
Caught between everyone, Dostoevsky had no counter-argument. “I…do not suppose I would oppose it…”
“Very well,” Clarke said. “Ryvkin will accompany us, Svetlana will accompany you.”
“Captain!” Scott protested. But Clarke just walked away.
Scott was apoplectic. The Nightmen behind him were almost equally upset.
Svetlana frantically reached for Scott’s arm. “I have nothing to do with this, Scott, I promise! I do not understand this.”
It was the first time they had made physical contact since her arrival, and Scott felt his heart churning. He was confused, angry. Helpless to avoid the situation. Each emotion was warring against the others and in their own way, each of them won.
