by Lars Teeney
Kate panicked with fear. The turrets were the only thing protecting her and her son. She watched as the Inquisitor casually strolled out of his A.P.C. and approached the front door of the mansion. Kate engaged the emergency shutters, which slid down over all doors and windows with overlapping steel plates. She was sure they would dissuade the Inquisitor of any further incursion upon her property. What she saw next horrified her: the Inquisitor converted his lion-headed-cane to a broad-bladed sword. He wound up for a swing with the sword, and performed a succession of quick slashes, and the overlapping steel plates, which protected the front door, fell apart into a heap on the porch. Inquisitor Rodrigo then slashed through the wood frame of the front door like it was kindling. The door fell away from its hinges, and now he had unbarred access to the entire house.
“Son! I am so terribly sorry that everything turned out the way it did for you! I have made some terrible decisions in my life and done horrible things, but you were not one of them. You are the most important thing to me in this world. Please forgive me when you reach a safe place.” With saying that she instructed Simon’s D.A.D. unit to travel to the submersible and board it, via her neural implant.
‘Mom!...what are you saying?...Mom!...Mom!” The D.A.D. unit sped away carrying Simon who became increasingly distraught as his mother faded from view. His voice trailed-off as the D.A.D. careened down halls and boarded a lift, to take to the sub-basement level to access the submersible. When he was out of sight she reached for her sidearm and took some cover behind a pillar nearest the foyer. Kate scanned the room, looking for any sign of the Inquisitor.
“Minister Kate Schrubb: I’m severely disappointed to find out that you were not planning to attend the Born Again Gathering. Your father has worked so hard to make such a historic event possible, and here you are attempting to flee New Megiddo! Truly a sorry sight indeed,” Inquisitor Rodrigo threw his voice, so she couldn’t quite judge his position in the house. Then she saw movement through the foyer and into the shadow of a hallway. She took three shots at the movement, but could not tell if she had hit anything.
“Inquisitor Rodrigo. I too am severely disappointed in you: shirking your duties to our great nation. It falls apart around us and here you are worrying about me, instead of putting down a rebellion. When push came to shove you were useless to my father’s Regime.” Kate tried to insult him into a mistake. She ducked into shadow and moved as silently as her training would allow.
“On the contrary, Minister Schrubb, I am dealing with the most egregious threat to President Schrubb’s legacy: his treacherous children. First, I discovered your brother’s plot with Graham Wynham to seize power, then I caught wind of your double-dealing with a traitor in the Church: Cardinal Zhukov. He enlisted you to gather intelligence on Arch-Deacon von Manstein: a shining example of Virtuousness and patriotism. That brave man personally leads an army against the Apostate militia as we speak, and you would slander his name? Here you are now, trying to make a getaway.” He recounted.
Kate heard a noise down the corridor that she was crouched in. She saw a slight movement in shadow and a glint of light reflect off a sword blade. She let off two quick shots: striking the figure in the hall, center mass. The Inquisitor was stunned for a moment, but his L.O.V.E. armor had absorbed the damage. Kate raised the gun to take aim again, but the inquisitor threw his sword like a spear, which struck the weapon, disarming Kate. Then he charged her, and attempted to tackle her. She was also trained in martial arts, and used the Inquisitor’s weight against him, leading him into a throw. The Inquisitor flipped over a table, overturning an antique lamp. He climbed up from the ground and dusted himself off.
“Excellent, Kate, I enjoy a challenge. It really gets the blood flowing. But, you know my reputation well. Submit now and I promise you a quick death. If you struggle I will be more inclined to take pleasure in delivering to you a slow and agonizing end. Trust me, I prefer if you struggle. Either way, the outcome will be the same. I need access to the data in your neural implant.” Inquisitor Rodrigo had a slight, mischievous smirk on his face.
“Well, Inquisitor, then I’ll make sure it is you who are the one who receives his end in this matter.” Kate pulled a small knife from her boot and brandished it threateningly.
“Oh, bravo, Minister! Very well—have it your way. I will quite enjoy this.” Inquisitor Rodrigo assumed a ready stance for his next attack and stared intently in his former boss’s eyes.
“You have no moral standing, yourself. I happen to be aware of your plans to set up a junta once the Second Coming occurs: where you will rule like a dictator. Why don’t you just let me go, and you set up your little kingdom?” Kate urged him, hoping he would just leave her be.
“You truly do not understand power dynamics. But, since you are aware of my plan, very well. You must die because the Schrubb seed must be scoured from the earth so that you cannot come back and lay claim to New Megiddo.” The Inquisitor maintained his trademark smirk.
“You truly are crazier than I had imagined. I knew the secret you harbored, and I said nothing for all this time. I could have had you purged. The least you could do is let me walk in return,” Kate suggested, even though she figured he would not listen.
“I’m afraid not. I suppose you should have purged me when you had the chance,” Inquisitor Rodrigo stated without emotion.
“Fine, there’s no avoiding this. Let’s do it,” Kate resigned herself to fate and prepared for combat.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
The two opposing forces formed up their battle lines on opposite sides of Harrisburg. Pride-Swarm was concerned about the battle that loomed over them all. The Regime forces held the heights on the east bank of the Susquehanna River, overlooking Harrisburg. His forces, on the other hand, were spread out across several city blocks on the west and lower bank of the river. Clearly in a vulnerable position, although he did possess more soldiers, Pride-Swarm’s force lacked heavy weapons and artillery. On top of it all the Regime forces held the bridge crossings. They had fortified their side of the bridges and an assault would be very costly. His militia would be funneled into bottlenecks and would be easy pickings for artillery and small arms.
The tactical situation was not in his favor, but Pride-Swarm needed to swallow the idea that he would have to sacrifice many lives to win this conflict. He prepared to order a general advance when he suddenly found out the hard way that the Apostate militia was in range of Regime artillery on the ridge. Artillery pieces sounded-off, one after another, lobbed shells across the river to reign down on the militia positions. Men and women scrambled for cover among the abandoned buildings of the Wormleysburg neighborhood. The artillery was not particularly accurate, but it was the psychological shock that it instilled in the ranks of the militia that worried Pride-Swarm so. He had previously lost a third of his force to the Reverend’s propaganda. Would they now break and run under the Regime artillery’s assault? Pride would need to rally his troops and order the advance post-haste or risk a route.
On the opposite bank of Susquehanna River, the Arch-Deacon von Manstein stood by his A.P.C. and admired his handiwork. The Regime artillery reigned death down on the Apostate militia and they had no response to his attack. He chuckled to himself, because he had always been a religiously pious man, and not a warrior. But, now here he was: commanding an army in battle. von Manstein surprised himself: he didn’t know he had such a penchant for strategy. His artillery barrage would force the militia to either flee the battle or conduct a direct assault on the bridges, where he was sure that they would be destroyed by his better-armed force.
Arch-Deacon von Manstein opened a general channel to broadcast a speech to every soldier in his force.
“Brave and Virtuous soldiers in the service to the Church and government of New Megiddo: You are the bulwark of the Faith! You are the line of defense that ensures that the Born Again Gathering can take place and our Messiah can return to claim his devout followers! Without your efforts, those heathens�
��those Apostates would cross the river, and dismantle all our preparations and hard work. But, even worse they would destroy our society and our Church. Therefore, it is imperative that when the Apostates begin their assault that you brave soldiers of Christ turn them back. And, when they are beaten back you will pursue them, to deliver the final—urcgh!” the broadcast was cut short. All his soldiers turned to one another in confusion. His officers closer to the riverbank became concerned because his speech stopped abruptly. A detachment of soldiers was lead by a sergeant up to the Arch-Deacon’s last known position to check on him. When they climbed the ridge, they spotted his A.P.C. sitting silently. So, they continued to approach.
When they got within fifty yards of the A.P.C. the engine fired-up and it fishtailed as it drove away. The sergeant and his soldiers could hardly believe their eyes: the Arch-Deacon of the Church of New Megiddo fled the battle. The cowardice was so terribly insulting, because he had just been in the middle of a speech telling the soldiers that they must be a steadfast line of defense, and now he turned tail and ran. Rumors spread through the ranks of the now leaderless army that the Regime was on the verge of collapse. They told stories how the Apostate fleet had sailed into the Chesapeake Bay: shelling the city and invading. The soldiers speculated that the Arch-Deacon had fled to save his own skin and left them in this place to die.
Slowly the artillery barrage subsided and then halted altogether. On the east-bank of the river officers and soldiers alike began to abandon their posts and fled the field: keen to return to New Megiddo City to find their families or to get last minute admission to the Born Again Gathering, so that they could be saved by the returning Messiah. Pride-Swarm, looking through his field-glasses and could hardly believe what he saw, nearly chalking it up to divine intervention, though he knew better.
“All forces! Advance now! Advance! Get across the bridges before they have a chance to reorganize,” Pride-Swarm gave the order, and officers relayed it to their troops. He was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. The Apostate militia and the refugees that they had rescued needed to finish in Harrisburg fast in order to get to New York on schedule, as to link-up with the Neo Railroad. And so the front line troops advanced toward the three major crossings over the river, to capture the east-bank.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Gale-Whirlwind and Angel-Seraphim were deep inside the old city ruins with the Apostate landing force when they received the hail from Hades-Perdition. She accepted the communiqué and listened intently to what he had to say.
“Gale, listen! Don’t bring the landing forces into the Divinity Center of New Megiddo! Change your course north instead toward New York City!” Hades pleaded for her to listen.
“What? Why would I do that? We have to liberate the B.A.G. venue!” Gale was puzzled. Why would she squander the opportunity to save refugees?
“No, listen. I have been through the Divinity Center. I was able to hijack a Ranger’s credentials to move freely. But, the forces we faced on the beach were nothing. All the Regime forces, regular and Ranger are massed here. They only care about protecting the government buildings and the B.A.G. venue. Do not try to engage them: we do not have the strength,” Hades explained.
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do then? This was our objective.” Gale was livid now.
“Look: I attacked L.O.V.E. headquarters myself. Graham Wynham is dead. I don’t know what information they got from him, but the Regime is expecting an assault. I don’t know what Ravine-Gulch is up to either, but from what I read in the files I’m starting to believe that he may be a key piece to this battle. I want to see how it plays out, instead of sacrificing all of your lives.” Hades was convinced there was a dimension to all of this that the rest of the Apostates were not seeing.
“Wait! You think Ravine-Gulch’s drug-induced visions were more than just an excuse to continue using? That bastard abandoned us during the landing, and he could have got us all killed, as usual.” Gale could not believe what she was hearing from Hades, as he had always been Ravine’s most ardent critic.
“We don’t have time to argue about this. Also when I was looking through the L.O.V.E. communication logs there was a flurry of reports about a second Apostate militia blazing a trail through Pennsylvania. I think their objective is New York. Now Wynham did not get a chance to give the next phase of the operation, but I’m pretty sure he was meaning for us to link-up with this force, and liberate New York B.A.G. venues. Can you all get mobile and head there?” Hades announced.
“Goddammit, Hades: I do not like this at all. But, I trust you. Very well, I’ll make the preparations for our new objective,” Gale agreed, but with great reluctance.
“Thank you and good luck!” Hades was about to sign off.
“What a second! What about you—what are you up to?” Gale was curious why Hades got to run off on personal forays while they were stuck with the militia.
“I’ve hijacked a Ranger A.P.C., I’m headed to Annapolis to Kate Schrubb’s residence. The L.O.V.E. logs said that the Inquisitor was heading there. He’s had a suspicion about her being a traitor. Regardless I need to take care of him. Out!” Hades signed off.
Gale cursed to herself. She filled Angel in about their new objective and Angel was just as frustrated as Gale had been when she learned about this, but she did not resist. The Apostates relayed the order to each officer and the force began to reorganize to change course. The order was also sent to the Apostate fleet, which started preparations to pull out of the Chesapeake Bay. Beyond that, they would sail up the Atlantic coast to New York to assist with the refugee evacuation. Gale had a feeling of uncertainty sweep over her: she couldn’t shake the feeling that Armageddon would not be averted.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
When Arch-Deacon von Manstein came to, he was bound and gagged and laid on his side in the rear of his own A.P.C. He struggled with his restraints, but to no avail: they had been tied with professional precision. He muttered and whimpered in fear. Struggling to look around he could see that he was alone in the A.P.C., but someone was obviously driving it. von Manstein attempted to use his neural implant to raise the Church, or the Regime, also to no avail. Whoever had kidnapped him had activated the [Virtue-net] dampener in the A.P.C. He was effectively locked out of the network. von Manstein imagined that he must have been captured by the Apostates and that they were probably laying waste to his valiant force of the Faithful at that moment. He had been on the verge of victory, then it was cruelly snatched from him, at the last moment.
von Manstein began to weep uncontrollably when he thought that the Apostates would put a stop to everything the Church and Regime had worked so hard for. He would not see the Born Again Gathering and the Second Coming, and he would instead be humiliated by the Apostates and probably die in some sacrilegious ritual. He tried to yell, but only murmurs came. He caught a glimpse of something stirring behind the tinted glass that separated the rear of the A.P.C. from the cab. He heard the unlatching of the hatch to the cab. He swallowed in fear: he figured the driver had initiated autopilot and was coming back to shut him up. The hatchway door swung open, but all was obscured in shadow. The figure drew near; he whimpered incoherently.
“Arch-Deacon von Manstein: for years you tormented and violated me. In my young mind at the time, I mistook what you were doing as parental love. Since then I have come to realize what the true nature of your crimes were,” the figure spoke.
von Manstein’s eyes widened and he recoiled and struggled in vain when he realized that the Prelate Ayane Inoguchi stood in front of him, albeit, a more gnarled and grizzled version of the Prelate than he had remembered. Half her face was burnt and scarred, and she only had one hand: the stump covered in some metal plate. He shrieked when he saw the full extent of her condition.
“Yes! Look upon your handiwork. All this, too, is your fault. You made me what I am, all those years ago in the H.O.V.E.L., now it is my turn to repay your...guidance.” The disfigured Prelate managed a
smile with the untouched side of her mouth. The Arch-Deacon whimpered and sobbed uncontrollably.
“That’s right you coward. Now we have a long drive. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut the fuck up!” With saying that, she used the metal plate over her stump to knock him unconscious. She didn’t want to listen to his childish sobbing all the way back to Portland.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
SAN FRANCISCO
Greta Sanchez rushed around the ward, assessing the newly-arrived patients’ needs, then, she assigned nurses and orderlies to each. For the most extreme cases, she would page the doctor on duty. The casualties had been flooding in as the Pacific War was coming to a head. The allies had invaded Okinawa, and the fighting had been described to her as a Hellish, new level of brutality. The civilians now fought against the U.S. army, and they were committing suicide rather than come under U.S. rule. She had been told stories by wounded soldiers, about Japanese women driving their children off cliffs to avoid capture. She had never imagined that the war would reach this level of insanity. But, now it was time to deal with the reality of the situation, after all, she’d rather be practicing her trade than sequestered to laundry detail.
Greta analyzed another patient: he had multiple gunshot wounds to his torso. The bullet fragments had been removed by medics at a field hospital. But his sutures had become infected while being transported by ship back to San Francisco. She assessed the wound and decided that nurses and orderlies would be able to handle the patient.
“Oh, my dear! Johnny my boy! Oh, I’m so happy to see you safe!” Nurse Wainwright was hysterically happy. She half-ran, half-waddled over to an injured aviator. Nurse Wainwright smothered the man in his bed. Nurse Sanchez lingered in the general area pretending to stock supplies at the nurse’s station so she could eavesdrop.
