Ballad of Demise

by Joshua Landeros

  Alex could only keep up the ruse for so long. As more and more time passed by, long gone was the ambiguity in the news reports. It may have only been hours ago, but the UNR had already decided who the true winners and losers were. When he saw Will dangling helplessly from that wire, the despair hit him hard. He felt it in his very fingertips, but he fought not to make a sound. They don’t need to see this…Goddammit! I told you! I told you to leave! Why did you stay?! Why?!

  He slammed a fist onto his keyboard, smashing many of his buttons beyond repair. Alex slumped over the controls, gawking down at them for an answer. He knew by now he had called attention to himself, and at the same time his computer was giving him some kind of alert.

  “Alex, are you okay?”

  It was Jacob talking to him; he just didn’t want to face him. Ire and misery burned within him. I never understood you, Will. I thought I did…then he thought of what the cyborg had said before Gabby had nosedived into combat.

  “Alex, your hand is bleeding.”

  This time it was Nusaybah, and Alex felt the tingles of pain now. He ignored it and went back to his telescreens. Half the screens had gone dark, and the other half were demanding a connection error be fixed. What’s this? The left corner screen had a message notification, and it wasn’t from Hosbon.

  “Everyone’s talking to you, ya know.”

  Mari had finally chimed in. Alex wanted to apologize and reassure them all, but there was no time. After reading the contents of the message, he saw Adar’s words had been prophetic.

  Lately, I’ve been thinking I can never face my son. I’m no father. Gabby soared over the clouds. It was a breathtaking sight, the rising sun brining light to the cockpit. She couldn’t stop thinking about that look in Will’s brown irises before she’d taken off.

  He wanted it this way, I saw it in his eyes. She fought with herself, riddled with pangs of regret and self-hatred. One minute she would tell herself to go back, and the next she’d remind herself there was nothing to gain by doing so. I should have waited for him. I could’ve planned it better and he’d still be here with us. She thought back on their embrace at Carrollton. The feeling of his hand in hers.

  Gabby removed her helmet, along with it Will’s bandanna. It was damp with her sweat. I don’t deserve this.

  “Gabby, Gabby, come in.”

  She heard Alex’s voice in her earpiece intercom. She was considering removing it, but he didn’t wait for her to reply.

  “Gabby, please tell me you’re listening in. I just got a distress call from the Mosie. They’ve run into a blockade.”

  “The UNR?” she said dryly.

  “No, Royal Canadian Navy. What do you wanna do?”

  Gabby peered at the bandana again. For luck. The woman felt a twinge in her chest. “You have their exact coordinates?”

  “They’ve been relayed to me, yes.”

  “Then send them on over.”

  There was a pause: “Roger that, Sergeant Neeson.”

  Gabby returned the bandanna to its rightful place and shut off the auto-pilot. She had no missiles left and nowhere near enough bullets to do real damage to a destroyer. She knew full well that most naval vessels were also armed with anti-aircraft guns and missiles of their own. On top of all that, this was not the UNR. These were their allies. Our precious allies. Being blown out of the sky was more assured than ever, but a sharp turn sent the Peregrine headed east.

  There’s work to be done.

  Chapter 16 - The Inevitable Flood

  October 24, 2065- New York City

  The corpse dangling at the intersection of First Avenue and 42nd Street brought in hundreds of people in the waning hours of dawn. Each minute that went by saw the arrival of more citizens. Soldiers kept them back, but nothing could stop their deafening applause. People in the crowd swung banners and homemade signs. Reporters droned on to fill the public in as their cameramen got the money shots. Whether a journalist or a local New Yorker, almost everyone wanted to get as close as possible. The latest person to arrive stuck to the outer edge of the mass of people.

  She was a tall dark-skinned woman wearing a black leather jacket with matching pants and Dockers boots. Her short hair was covered with an olive green brimless hat. While everyone else was ecstatic, some even bounding around, this woman only calmly observed the presented body. If there was any joy in her eyes, no one could see it due to her sunglasses.

  The woman hadn’t come to see Unit 21, but passing up the sight was out of the question. The intersection was becoming clogged and soon there would be too many banners to see the spectacle all had come for. She distracted herself no longer and headed for the UN Headquarters.

  If the caution tape wasn’t enough to ward off onlookers, the battalion of soldiers did the trick. The troops cocked their guns when they heard the shrill cry of a motorcycle approaching. They were certain the vehicle was passing through, but it became clear the engine was growing louder. Sur enough, they spotted the motorcycle darting between the wreckage of blasted apart Humvees and Bison.

  At the first sight of a tarp covered body, the cycle screeched to a halt. The rider got off and removed her hat, reveling her textured pixie cut. The center piece was a Mohawk fringe and the sides were tapered. When all guns were pointed in her direction, she didn’t stop.

  Only one troop bothered leaving his post to venture out onto the asphalt. Both the soldier and the woman walked past more covered bodies and bullet casings. As she got within a few feet, he lost patience. He still had his left hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, but he put his right on his holster.

  “This is a restricted area. No civilians are allowed here and if you don’t turn around we’re going to have to detain you,” he warned.

  The woman didn’t reply with a remark of any kind. She only removed her sunglasses.

  “Lady, I said—”

  “Enough, sergeant! This is no civie!” declared a man as he rushed down the steps of the exterior building. Unlike the rest of the men and women present, he was wearing a suit, though over it was a flak jacket. He stepped between the soldier and woman, his breath short: “This is S.S.C. Unit 6-76, Pamela King.”

  The soldiers all lowered their weapons. The sergeant was left gawking, his mouth hanging open.

  “I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t recognize you without your uniform. Please, forgive me.”

  “It’s all right, soldier,” Pamela replied. She then turned to the man who’d introduced her. “Flass, still chasing the action as a regional detective?”

  “Desk job never was for me. Did you come all the way from Raleigh?” Flass answered.

  “I was ordered to report to Seymour Johnson Air Force Base, but I wanted to see it for myself. Tell me, is it true?”

  Flass nodded. “General Kane, too. Ms. King, I think it’s best you hear it now: Aliss was K.I.A.”

  Her response was akin to a reflex: “Show me.”

  Flass was awestruck by her brazenness. “You sure? It’s not pretty. Maybe you want to wait till—”

  “Show. ME,” she repeated.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Pamela and Flass ascended the stairs and got to the entrance. Where the glass doors used to be was only a field of shards. The lobby itself, aside from the paintings, was in a state of squalor. The tables that had served food had been knocked over and pamphlets were everywhere. In the middle of the room was a Bison, seemingly intact.

  Where is he? Flass led her around the vehicle, close to the doors that led to the rubble that was the next room. There, lying not too far from the Bison, was a black tarp with a pool of blood around it.

  Pamela did something she hadn’t done on a battlefield before; she did not rush forward. Outside there were plenty of bodies. She respected them, but only this single one instilled a terrifying sensation in her. Terror at the sight of the solitary concealed corpse.

  “Is that him?” Pamela asked.

  “Yes, yes, it is,” Flass responded.

  Pamela got down on he
r knees and didn’t hesitate. She lifted the cover and saw what had been to Aliss’ face. His hay-colored hair, still styled in his signature comb-over, was doused in red. His eyelids were still wide open. Looking into them, Pamela foolishly expected Aliss to suddenly exhale and rise like a long-submerged diver.

  Flass had never seen a cyborg hyperventilate before. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen one of them admit defeat like this.

  Pamela sucked in a heavy breath and rammed her fist into the tiled floor. Flass and the other soldiers flinched and prepared for some kind of assault, but Pamela only got to her feet and placed the tarp back over her fallen comrade.

  “Where is his sword?” Pamela inquired.

  Flass had been waiting for this question. In the face of it he appeared frightened. “We don’t know. We can only assume the Crimson Angels took it.”

  Pamela grinded her sunglasses to crumbs in her hand, leaving the remains on the lobby floor.

  “She took it. Not the Crimson Angels.”

  “Yeah, that appears to be the case.”

  “Ptolemy will never forgive this.”

  Pamela saw last night as a singular event. In a single night, many soldiers and their honorable Chancellor had perished. The overwhelming loss of fellow leader such as Kane, Flemming, and Aliss were impossible to gloss over. Unit 21’s demise meant next to nothing for her compared to what it had cost.

  We loss again, and it’s about time we struck back. The time of mercy is over. When we retaliate, it will felt be all around the world.

  Despite all her rage, Pamela still had many things in consideration. Flass could read these signs easily enough.

  “We’re scheduled to tell his family a few hours from now,” he informed.

  “No. Please, hold that order.”

  Pamela had gathered her strength. She didn’t hide her tears, and Flass knew to get out of her way as she was leaving.

  “I’ll inform Nate myself. We promised each other that’s how it would go down long ago. Prepare a flight to Birmingham.”

  “You got it.”

  None challenged her. Flass and the other soldiers marveled at her as she sped off on her motorcycle. They could all sense it. After today, there would be no more holding back. Many people recognized Will’s sacrifice, but relentlessly more believed his death had been the victory they’d been waiting for. Pam saw this as the only way to rationalize her friend’s death. We will destroy all he stood for. His sacrifice will become a farce in the history books. His compatriots will die by my hand.

  ***

  October 24, 2065: Aboard UNR Cruiser - Virginia Airspace

  She keeps me going when I think I’m going to break. Damien looked back on those words. Janet had been a pillar for her husband for years. Now, in this hellish time, she deserved a pillar of her own to lean on. She sobbed on his shoulder on the leather seat where days before Aliss, Kearney, and Venloran had deliberated. He needed to let it out just as badly as she did.

  The plane finally landed atop UNR Headquarters, dawn just barely cracking. There were a number of people on the landing pad already waiting.

  Captain Howarth emerged from the cruiser with Janet by his side. He was startled to discover there were plenty of soldiers, but Redford and Kearney were the only Cabinet members present. He pushed it aside for now. Once at the bottom of the air stairs, Kearney embraced Janet. Damien let them have their moment.

  “What’s the latest?” he asked Redford. The man took a deep breath before replying.

  “None of our air assault team could hit the damn thing. They’re gone, presumably back over that border.”

  Damien wanted to hit something himself. No, hit someone. In time, we will.

  “Then we need to start preparations. Every single base needs to be on full alert.”

  “It’s going to take a lot to get back on track,” Redford said. “The next few hours are critical. I completely understand if you want to head home first. Maybe sleep.”

  Damien shook his head.

  “I’m going to have my people digging around the clock. Not one of them is going home for a while and any of them who are home will be called in. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t stay with them?”

  The last several hours had been grueling, but Redford nodded in return. There was a glimmer of hope.

  “I think it’s time the gloves come off,” he said.

  “I’m going to enjoy every step of the way, sir,” Damien boasted, his eyes still red and puffy. “Now, where are Lawson and Montalbán?”

  “They’re in the Chancellor’s office. They’ve declared a state of emergency and a media blackout.”

  I watched you grow past tribulation before, and I know you can do it now. Captain Howarth began to head for the elevator, Redford following behind.

  “And to think I’m the Head Director of the Public Services and Inquires Division.”

  ***

  The Ritz-Carlton, Toronto

  Vanzetti checked his watch as all around him workers packed away with his clothes, books, and wine bottles. Would you look at that?

  “Everyone, take fifteen. You’ve earned it,” he said to them all. After everyone filed out, Emir walked in wearing a blazer and V-neck, looking ready to hit the town. With his hair slicked back and the cologne, he looked something like a playboy.

  The open curtains let in a little too much morning sun for his taste. It even caused an unsightly glare on the telescreen, not that Vanzetti had any interest in watching it. He had the volume muted.

  “You cleaned up nice. You truly do amaze me,” the secretary general said. He seated himself on the mattress as Emir stood.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “So, how many?”

  “We lost two, but everyone else got out okay.”

  “A fairly clean op, even under those circumstances. I’m impressed.”

  Emir fought with himself not to look at the telescreen, even though he was standing only a few feet from it.

  “Sir, I wanted to say something if I may.”

  Vanzetti wasn’t fooled in the least. “Your soldiers have questions, do they?”

  “Yes, they want to know why we pulled out. I know the plan went off course—”

  Vanzetti laughed hard. “Off course? That’s being generous of you. I know you haven’t forgotten, so I want you to remind them: I do not dedicate my resources to operations that are not my own. Tell them to be patient.”

  Emir nodded. “Yes, sir. So, what now?”

  Vanzetti rose from the bed and walked out on to his balcony. The wind was amazing and the sun was gracing them with its presence. Birds flew by, and the man soaked it all in. He was trembling, clutching the railing tightly.

  “We will continue on our course unopposed. Our course cannot be diverted because we are destined to reach the Styx. Unit 21 put on a fantastic show for all of us. I suppose he wanted to prove that he bent the knee to no man. He only accomplished one thing, though: he’s made this far more interesting. I congratulate him on that. As for what the future holds, there is much to look forward to. What his puny mind failed to comprehend is that a war is inevitable. It is the flood no one can stop, and yet they’ll try to anyway. I, conversely, don’t fear it like the rest of the world does. I embrace it! We all should! War has always brought with it rebirth and a new vision of the earth. I cannot wait to see this one!”

  About the Author

  Joshua Aaron Landeros, though preferably Josh, is an upcoming author in the science fiction genre. He lives in the small town of Perris and is currently a student at UCR majoring in history administrative studies and minoring in English. He enjoys coffee, brewery exploration, quoting movies profusely, and reading comics. End of Knighthood is part of an ongoing series. The next arc is looking at a January 2018 release.

  Please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads to let Josh know what you thought of the entry. Reader feedback is always appreciated and thanks again.

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  Voice of a Crimson Angel: Persecution

  When Chancellor Venloran began his regime, he did not remain unchallenged. This is the story of the people who gave everything for an idea. The seed of that movement was none other than Julissa Marconi, the wife of The Wolf himself. Aided by scientist Robert Neeson and veteran Joseph Halsey, this wife and mother will lead a revolt that the world will never forget. It will explore the Marconi family, Captain Halsey, the conflicts dubbed “The Expansion” and “Three-Days War”, and much, much, more.

  A preview from Voice of a Crimson Angel Part I: Persecution is up next, so please enjoy and thanks for reading. Witness the genesis of a war decades in the making!

  February 20, 2045 - Rock City Salvage Station-Radiology Room

  Zaneta shivered under yet another blast of cold air. The ventilation unit above her was relentless. Why are we here? We should be back in the room where Daddy is. She was down without a doubt, but the child was definitely more so confused. She had a complexion more like her father’s and brother’s, a light mocha, but her dark, flowing, hair was that of her mother’s. On account of her mother’s crying, Zaneta did not say a word.

  Although quieter now, Julissa was still in her own world that no one else dared to disturb. Even with her daughter seated right next to her, the woman wasn’t ready to console her oldest child. She still held Damien in her arms. The baby boy was sound asleep in her arms, oblivious to his mother’s tears.

  Seated at the desk in front of the broken family was Dr. Thorton, and standing beside him General Kane. They’d left the Cyborg Treatment Center half an hour ago after seeing William Marconi. The Commander had dreaded this moment for a while, and finally seeing it in the flesh was just as painful as he’d envisioned. Thorton awkwardly fiddled with the pen on his desk. He paid no mind to yet another sniffle from the woman.