by J. L. Lyon
If it turned out to be true, no one else could ever know.
But someone does know, he thought grimly. Whoever wrote that message on the wall, for one. Was it Grace? Was it her way of reaching out to him, of trying to trigger something in his sub-conscious mind? To eliminate all trace of this secret he would have to eliminate her, and buy his life with her blood. He hoped it did not come to that.
“We’re coming up on the Tower,” Derek said at his side.
301 shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the sight outside the forward window of the Halo. A cool blue sky gave way to warmer yellows and reds as the sun drew nearer to the distant horizon, and just at the edge of his vision he made out the shape of the Communications Tower—at first nothing more than a pinprick, though it grew steadily as the Halo sped south.
As they closed the distance, 301 saw that the structure of the Tower was very similar to that of the Specter Spire. It didn’t quite have the Spire’s same flare, however, as it was built more for practicality than luxury.
A large satellite dish protruded from the top of the black cylinder, and rows of multicolored lights—wireless uplinks that connected all of Division One—ran down the sides all the way to the ground. 301 remembered from officer training that the Communications Tower functioned as the central hub for all of Division One’s contact with the outside world. Only the Master Dish on the roof had the codes to feed into the World System’s network of satellites, and that security filtered into the Tower’s uplink system as well. Yet another method of control imposed upon the world in the name of order, 301 thought dryly. How the rebellion had managed to communicate across distances without access to uplink control remained a mystery.
The entire Fourteenth Army swarmed upon the field surrounding the Tower, an open area that thankfully would not provide an opportunity for the rebels to sneak in wearing Great Army uniforms. The army officers made a last ditch attempt to form their men into lines as the two Halos touched down on the grass outside the perimeter, and all 301 could see was a mass of jumbled soldiers who didn’t seem to have a clue where they were headed. The doors on the vessel slid open and 301 walked with Derek, McCall, and two others to meet the rest of the force disembarking from the second Halo. As they began their walk toward the Fourteenth Army ranks, the Halos returned to the sky.
“Here comes our welcoming committee,” McCall motioned toward the two men approaching from the scattered lines. 301 recognized them immediately.
“Admiral,” the general smiled. “It is an honor. And you, Specter Captain…we are proud that one of our own was chosen as captain of the Specter reformation.”
301 nodded and stole a brief glance at the man by the general’s side. Major General Wilde didn’t appear pleased to see the Specter Captain again so soon. But fortunately, the sour old officer was not obliged to speak just yet.
McCall broke the silence as they continued to walk in the direction of the Tower, where most of the confusion had abated and the soldiers stood in formations at least resembling battle lines, “Thank you for the kind welcome, General Brooks…but let’s get down to business. How prepared are your troops for battle?”
“My men are ready to face whatever rebel group assaults this Tower,” Brooks replied. “They are eager to prove themselves after the debacle at the Weapons Facility.”
“Intelligence indicates that Silent Thunder may possess an army of Spectral-adepts,” McCall went on. “So let me rephrase the question: are you prepared to hold the Tower if this intelligence proves true?”
Brooks puffed out his chest in a display of offense, “As I said, any assault by the rebels would prove futile.”
“You have heard tell of the Phantom Army, General?”
The old man laughed, “Please, Admiral McCall. Old wives tales and fables about an army of ghosts roaming the Eastern Hemisphere during the Persian Resurgence cannot possibly factor into the actual battle plans of a real counterattack. The Phantom Army is a legend, a hoax!”
“The Phantom Army was as real as you or I, General, and made up not of ghosts but men. Men who fought with the Spectral Gladius.”
“I hardly think we will be facing an army of Spectral-adepts, Admiral. Judging from the covert operations they were forced to employ at the Weapons Manufacturing Facility, their numbers are hardly substantial enough to—”
“Your only chance in the event of such an attack is to surround the enemy,” McCall interrupted. “Otherwise you will be cut to pieces. I need Specter to guard the uplink control systems on the upper floors and the Master Dish in case the rebels break through, so it will be up to your men to hold the lower floors. Two thirds of all those on this field must be moved to the interior immediately. By forcing the rebels into smaller spaces, you will stand a better chance of holding them off until reinforcements arrive.”
“Reinforcements?” Brooks asked incredulously. “Just what kind of attack are you expecting tonight, McCall? What could break the entire Fourteenth Army?”
“You should know that the Phantom Army has never been defeated in a head-on attack,” McCall said. “If the worst does happen, we will all be lucky to survive. General Dryfus and the main force of the Ninth Army are standing by along the southern border of the city, and can be here in twenty minutes if the Fourteenth cannot hold. But beware: twenty minutes may be much too long.” Brooks opened his mouth to object again, but McCall cut him off, “You would also do well to remember, General, that Specter has been given charge over the defenses of the Tower. All of your forces—including yourselves—are subject to the command of the Shadow Soldier. And since at the current time I am acting overseer of Specter—to me. I expect my counsel to be taken to heart.”
The general took the hint and replied with a sour look, “Understood, Admiral.”
Brooks and Wilde walked away without another word, and McCall led the way inside the Communications Tower, speaking low to 301 as they went, “The armies of the World System have gotten careless during these years of peace. They have forgotten the fear of defeat. Silent Thunder is well aware of the System’s weaknesses and will try to exploit them all. If it comes to an all out battle, Specter may be all that stands between them and another victory.”
“Sir, I feel compelled to tell you again that I’m almost certain the rebels will attack the Tower,” 301 said. “Major Graves did not lie to us.”
“I know,” McCall said grimly. “It is the army of Spectral-adepts I doubt, Captain. Not to mention that we have no clue as to when the attack might come. But if it is true, we cannot afford to be caught unawares, and so I will proceed as though there is no doubt.”
Specter made its way through the doors of the Tower onto the ground level, where Fourteenth Army soldiers were already shifting into their new positions. Very little else remained on the floor, a huge octagonal space that served as the Tower’s security level. The more sensitive the equipment, the higher the floor on which it was housed, all the way up to uplink control and the Master Dish.
“Have all the Tower’s security and personnel been evacuated?” 301 asked.
“The personnel will remain until the attack appears imminent,” McCall replied. “We can’t allow this threat to close our communications channels for longer than necessary. Security will stay for the duration and aid in the Tower’s defense.”
“What do you want us to do, sir?” 301 asked.
The admiral sighed, “We’re not going to be much use until a battle presents itself. Thick-headed as your old general may be, he will follow my orders as I have outlined, so there is no need to waste your time with the positioning of troops. I need you focused and ready if the Tower is attacked, so I recommend you take your positions on the upper floors. I’d like you and Blaine to guard the Master Dish, and thus be the Tower’s last line of defense. That dish must be protected at all costs, Captain. Losing our Weapons Manufacturing Facility was bad enough, but if we are unable to even call for more weapons and ammunition from other divisions, we will be in quite
a situation.”
“We will take care of it, sir,” 301 nodded.
“Other than that, there’s nothing left to do but the thing we soldiers do worst: wait for the events of the night to unfold.”
-X-
Admiral McCall’s predictions proved true. The rest of the evening passed in relative boredom, as preparations were complete within an hour of their arrival. Afterwards 301 spent the majority of the time on the roof of the Tower with Derek, keeping watch over the field for any sign of trouble.
As sunset rolled on by, 301 had ample time with his thoughts, most of which turned to his time with Grace in the palace during his Specter training. He remembered the feelings that overcame him any time she was near, the way they used to spend hours every night just talking, the way the touch of her skin had felt when she showed him a new move with the Gladius—truly it was like a different life, and he had been a different man. Had she known, then, who he truly was? Had she kept it from him?
Derek finished another survey of the area around the Tower and joined him at the ledge, where they could see for miles in the fading light. The silhouettes of Alexandria’s skyscrapers decorated the skyline, and 301 couldn’t help but see a certain beauty in it. This was his city…his home. He had to prevent Grand Admiral Donalson from burning it to the ground.
“I never said thank you,” Derek said into the silence.
301 turned toward him, confused, “For what?”
“Today on that ship, I thought that would be it for me,” Derek replied. “I wasn’t careful, and I let her get to me. That’s the second time I have accepted death only to have you pull me back from it. I owe you, Captain.”
“We’re partners, Derek,” 301 said. “If I don’t stick my neck out when there’s a chance I can save your life, then what’s the point? Isn’t that why you gave me credit for Jacob Sawyer’s death?”
Derek nodded, “I suppose it is. Though there was something selfish in it. You’re the closest thing to a true friend I’ve ever had, Captain. I didn’t want to go through the trouble of replacing you.”
301 chuckled, “So we’re friends now, are we?”
“My father always said that when you find a person greater than yourself you must stick by them, and hope that some of that greatness rubs off on you.” Derek looked away. “You’re a far better man than I am, 301. Had our positions been reversed today, I would have let Liz have you.”
301 didn’t know what to say to that. When he had first met Derek he had been sure their bitter rivalry could only end in death, but their relationship had changed slowly throughout Specter training. They had a mutual respect, and then their shared experience in the Weapons Manufacturing Facility when they took on those rebels alone had transformed them into something more. Friends? Maybe. But in any case, they were no longer rivals.
He shifted his gaze down the forty-story height to the ground below. The number of soldiers on the field had been depleted by McCall’s reapportionment, but there were still enough outside to make a fearsome display. Stars shone brightly overhead, and the air was eerily silent. The only sounds 301 could hear for a while were his own breathing and the low hum of the Master Dish behind him.
“Do you believe in destiny, Blaine?” he asked.
“Destiny? As in fate? Predestination?”
“As in being chosen,” 301 said. “Chosen for something significant. Something that could change everything.”
Derek thought for a moment, searching for answers in the clear night sky. Then he answered, “I think a man chooses his own path, and those choices shape the world around him. We are no more meant to change the world than the world is meant to change. It just happens as a part of the natural cycle.”
“When I was a boy at the orphanage, I always believed that one day someone would come for me. I don’t know why, but I felt something was wrong with my life…that I had been placed on some kind of detour that needed a course-correction, and was not the person I was meant to be. For many years I expected someone would arrive to tell me what this feeling meant, that perhaps I was destined for something greater than a life of servitude in the Great Army. But then one day, those expectations just stopped. I decided to make my own destiny…carve my own fate.”
“And so you have,” Derek said. “Something to be proud of.”
“But say that person I was waiting for all those years finally arrived,” 301 said carefully. “And what they told me could destroy everything I have built.”
“Our choices make us who we are, Captain,” Derek replied. “You’re not here because you’re supposed to be. You’re here because you have what it takes. And as for how you felt as a child, I’m sure you would hear a similar story from thousands of orphans that were raised in this city—it’s a coping mechanism for dealing with being alone in the world, to hold on to hope that you are not alone. No one can tell you who you are, 301. No one but you.”
“Yes,” 301 nodded, wanting with all his heart to believe it. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’d wager you would even find some who grew up in normal families who dreamed those same dreams,” Derek’s tone darkened. “There were times in my childhood when I would have given anything to exchange places with you, and that’s not an exaggeration. Life can be as unkind to the wealthy as to the poor.”
“I have noticed that in all the times we have been to your family’s estate, we have never crossed paths with your father.”
Something indiscernible flashed in Derek’s eyes, and 301 wondered if he had gone too far. But after an uncomfortable moment in silence, Derek answered with feigned indifference, “He’s a powerful man, and busy, so that’s understandable. But I’d be lying if I said we saw eye-to-eye on much of anything. He hasn’t really been the same since Mother…” he broke off, as though only just realizing he had been speaking at all. He cleared his throat and finished, “It doesn’t matter. He has his life and I have mine, and we have reached a point where only chance will see them cross.”
301 ventured a question, knowing he would probably not receive a direct answer, “What happened to your mother?”
Derek paused yet again, but then to 301’s surprise proceeded to answer, “She—”
A wave of static sounded in their ears, and their attentions returned to the field below as General Brooks’ voice came through, “We have some activity on the ground.”
301 pulled out a set of binoculars he had taken from the Tower’s security and surveyed the perimeter. Made of little more than closely planted trees several hundred yards from the base of the Tower, it ensured that anyone walking toward them would be spotted without fail. After a few quick sweeps with his eyes, he saw a person emerge from behind the trees, walking at a slow pace. He couldn’t see too many details from so far away, aside from discerning that the figure wore a gray cloak.
“Admiral,” 301 said into his earphone, “we have a single figure approaching from the northeast approximately five hundred yards from the Tower.”
McCall burst onto the roof just as the captain finished his sentence and came up in between the two Specters. 301 offered the admiral his binoculars, and McCall muttered under his breath as he looked through them, “Only one man…” He lowered the binoculars and turned to the Specter Captain, “What do you make of it?”
301 took the binoculars again and gazed out onto the field. The cloaked figure walked for several more strides, and a sinking feeling came over 301 as he recognized something unique about that walk. It was lithe, regal, and proud—every movement a very picture of Grace. The figure stopped about three hundred yards away and stood still on the grass as though waiting for something. 301 whispered his thoughts aloud, forgetting there were others around to hear, “It’s her.”
McCall turned his gaze upon him, “Her? Who do you mean?”
“Sawyer,” 301 replied, no longer seeing any reason to hide it. “That’s Grace Sawyer.”
“You don’t know that,” McCall snapped. “You can’t know that.”
“No,” McCall replied. “Do not engage the enemy until Specter gives the command.”
301 watched as four more figures cloaked in the same pale gray emerged from the trees, then four more from a different side. These eight walked up and stood with the first, four on each side. “There are now nine hostiles on the field. Ten more approaching from north northeast…ten from east-northeast. Perhaps it is time to call in the Ninth, Admiral.”
“Not yet,” McCall insisted. “It could still be a diversion.”
But as the admiral spoke more and more cloaked figures came into view, their numbers swelling exponentially. Behind the first figure there now stood fifty, then a hundred, two hundred, and then more than 301 could count—and still more came.
“It would seem ‘increased rebel activity’ was a bit of an understatement,” Derek said. “More like a rebel explosion.”
“And all of them Spectral-adepts,” 301 said dryly. “Is this the Phantom Army you spoke of, Admiral? The force that has never lost a full-on battle?”
McCall’s eyes were wide with fear and awe, “It is. Sawyer must have reunited the commanders.” He turned and headed back toward the door. “Take command, Captain. I must inform the MWR of this immediately.”
“Very well, sir,” 301’s heart began to beat faster as the admiral left the roof. “Specter Marcus, are you seeing this?”
“Yes,” came his reply. “Clearer than I’d like to. How are we supposed to fight that, Captain?”
“Admiral McCall is requesting our reinforcements, but we will have to hold the Tower ourselves until they arrive. Our best chance would be to shut off the elevators and force them into the stairwells. If they catch us in the open, we’re dead, but their numbers will not help them in a confined space. Team two will take the south stairwell, three the north. You and Dodson will split to support each team. Descend until you encounter the enemy, then hold them as long as possible.”
