by Jay Allan
Klein stared out, trying to estimate the range. The rifle could have given him an exact figure, but he couldn’t risk using the laser rangefinder. It was unobtrusive, but those were Supersoldiers down there, and he wasn’t about to gamble on what their enhanced eyes could see.
He brought the rifle up, pointing it down toward his target. He moved his head around, working the rifle into a comfortable place on his shoulder. He leaned against it, bringing his eye down and looking through the sights.
He had a much better view of Taylor through the rifle’s scope. The AOL’s legendary commander looked shockingly normal as he stood in the quad, speaking to Samuels and two other officers. Taylor was a living legend, but Klein reminded himself he was just a man, that he could be killed as easily as any other.
He adjusted the sights, and then he moved a few millimeters to the right, his eye focused as the crosshairs slipped over Taylor’s head.
Klein took one last breath and held it. Then his finger tensed slowly, steadily on the trigger…
* * *
“Bear, I think we can get around their flank and bag another twenty-thousand prisoners before they can pull back. I want you to get a message to Hank as soon as…” He turned as his eyes caught sight of one of his aides rushing over.
“General Taylor…I have terrible news. General Ralfieri was hit, sir…just as the Juno forces were pushing through.” The aide paused, and it looked like he struggled for a moment to maintain Taylor’s gaze. “He’s dead, sir.”
Taylor paused, just staring at the lieutenant. Finally, he croaked, “Very well, Lieutenant. That will be all.” He turned and looked back at Bear. “Ralfieri too…”
Antonio Ralfieri had been Taylor’s enemy once, the commander of Force Juno during the desperate struggle on that cursed world. But he’d discovered the truth, as Taylor and his people had years before, and when he did he called an immediate halt to all fighting…in courageous defiance of the UN Inquisitor sent to keep an eye on him. Taylor and Bear had come to accept Ralfieri, despite the losses their people had incurred fighting Force Juno. They understood being lied to, committing terrible acts you believed to be in the right. Jake Taylor was a lot of things, but a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. Taylor had taken Ralfieri into his inner circle, just as his soldiers had accepted their comrades from Force Juno. And now he was gone, another friend lost.
“He was a good man.” Bear looked down at the ground, moving his foot absent-mindedly through the loose dirt. He paused a few seconds then he said, “Anyway…where do you want Hank…” Bear’s head was moving up, his gaze lifting from the ground to look at Taylor. But he paused, froze as he caught a glimpse, a small flash. A reflection?
His response was immediate, his own crack battlefield instincts amplified by his neural implants. He felt the odd but familiar feeling of his artificial eyes changing magnification…and in an instant he saw. A man, crouched partially behind a tree…some kind of rifle in his hand.
Sniper!
He reacted instantly, on pure instinct. He hadn’t even had time for a conscious thought, a realization that this was an assassination attempt. His body was already in motion, his huge arms thrusting out, pushing Taylor hard as he leapt in front of his friend.
Bear’s eyes snapped around, in time to see the surprise on Taylor’s face. “Bear, what the…”
He heard his friend’s words, but then his head snapped forward hard. He didn’t feel any pain, not really. But when he gasped for air, his mouth filled with blood. He could feel the tingling in his body, the nanos releasing into his bloodstream. They were a potent medical tool, and they had saved thousands of Supersoldiers. But Bear Samuels knew in that instant they weren’t going to be enough this time.
His eyes locked for an instant on Taylor’s, and he tried to speak, but there was nothing…nothing but a loud gurgling sound and a sheet of blood pouring out of his mouth. He saw the shock on his friend’s face, Taylor’s mouth moving. But he couldn’t hear anything. He felt himself falling, Taylor’s arms on him, trying to hold him up.
Then the blackness took him.
* * *
“Bear!” Taylor screamed, tightening his arms, trying to hold the giant man up. “Bear…” His voice trailed off to a miserable whine as realization set in.
He stepped back, lowering Bear gently to the ground, and his eyes went right to the wound. It was grievous—the bullet had entered the back of his friend’s neck. It was some kind of explosive round, and there was almost nothing left of Samuels’ throat. There was blood everywhere, pumping from the wound, from Bear’s mouth. “Medic!” he screamed, but he already knew the wound was mortal.
Taylor felt a wave of despair. “No, Bear…no…not again…” He remembered the terrible feeling of listening to Tony Black die, and now he was crouched down over yet another brother, watching his life force slip away. Bear Samuels had always been larger than life, a man who had managed to maintain his cheerful disposition through whatever hell he’d been forced to walk through. But now he was silent, even the choking attempts to draw breath had ceased. Taylor knew. Bear was dead.
A column of troops had come running over, and they surrounded him, shielding him with their bodies. The officer in charge leaned down. “General, are you hurt, sir?”
Taylor ignored the question, the fear in the man’s voice. “Captain,” he screamed at the officer, a wave of elemental rage pushing back the horror for a few seconds. “I want that sniper caught. No matter what the cost.”
“Sir, we can’t leave you…”
“Now,” Taylor roared, as if defying anyone to refuse his command. “All of you…go!” He leapt to his feet, and waved his arms. “I’ll shoot any man who disobeys.” He reached down and pulled out his pistol.
The troops that had surrounded him paused for an instant, hesitant to leave their commander undefended. But none could stand up to Taylor’s words, and they pulled away, running toward the hill with their weapons drawn.
Taylor just stood watching. Then his eyes dropped to the motionless body of his friend…and the despair again took control.
Chapter 19
Communiqué from Captain Rod Charles:
Attention all AOL personnel…attention all AOL personnel…this is Captain Rod Charles. If you are receiving this message I request that you abandon your attempts to find your homes and return to your airships. My team has joined forces with a Resistance group in New York City, and we have eliminated most UNGov troops in the city. I urge you to come to New York as quickly as possible, to assist us in maintaining control and defeating any remaining UNGov forces. The Resistance here is able to contact other rebel groups, helping us spread the word much faster than we can do on our own, so it is essential that we are able to hold. Attention all AOL personnel…
Wickes watched as the group from the airship spread out, moving in pairs in different directions. He stayed where he was as two of them walked toward him, weapons drawn. He resisted the urge to turn and run, reminding himself he was a Marine when he felt the fear taking hold of him.
“Don’t move. Stay where you are.”
He heard the words, stern and demanding, though without anger. In the gloomy darkness of the waterfront he couldn’t make out which of the men approaching him was speaking. He just stood where he was, taking care not to move his arms, not to do anything that might appear hostile.
The men were closer now, and he could see it was the one on the left speaking. They wore some kind of uniforms, vaguely familiar, but definitely not the garb of uniformed UNGov security.
“I have to thank you guys,” Wickes said, speaking clearly, his voice steady despite his fear.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Why was UNGov security attacking you?”
Wickes took a breath. The Marine in him was wary, cautious about supplying information to someone who could yet turn out to be an enemy. But these people had almost certainly saved his life, and while they had mercilessly attacked the UNGov troops, they hadn’t touche
d his people. He figured they deserved an answer.
“I—we—are from the Resistance. There are a couple dozen of my people on this wharf.” He paused for an instant, feeling a twinge when he spoke of his people, but he reassured himself with the thought that if these soldiers were some kind of UNGov force, they already knew he was a rebel. Besides, it looked like the others from the gunship were already rounding up the rest of the cell, most of it at least.
“We launched an attack on UNGov facilities in New York tonight. We were trying to get away, but the security forces pinned us down on the waterfront.”
“That would explain the fires we saw, Captain.” The soldier on the right had turned toward the other one.
“Yes, Sergeant, it would. And if these people really are some kind of resistance organization, we need to talk to their leader as soon as possible.”
Wickes listened as two men conversed. They spoke softly, but he could still make out what they were saying. His mind raced. Who were they? Who would have an airship? It didn’t sound like they even knew about the Resistance.
The forces that came through the Portal? It must be…but these don’t seem like men who murdered 20,000 of their comrades.
Wickes had been suspect of Samovich’s speech for the simple reason that he rarely believed anything a representative of UNGov had to say. But he’d had no idea what the truth was. Now, his mind began to race.
Are these men enemies of UNGov? Almost certainly. Our allies? Perhaps…
The man on the left took a few steps forward, stopping about two meters from Wickes. “We would like to speak with the commander of your resistance movement. If you are opposed to UNGov, we may have much to discuss. Can you take us to him?”
Wickes hesitated, only for an instant. Then he decided to follow his gut instincts. “I think I can manage that, Mr.…?”
“Captain Rod Charles, Army of Liberation.”
Wickes nodded slowly. “And I am Captain Stan Wickes, USMC, retired. The acting commander of the New York Resistance.”
* * *
“The situation in New York is unacceptable!” Samovich slammed his fist down on the table. His eyes glittered with unfocused anger. “I’d order every officer there executed…if the Resistance hadn’t killed them all already. How did a group of rebels manage to destroy every UNGov facility in the city…and then kill over fifty security troops sent after them?”
“Sir…” The aide was clearly terrified. In forty years of UNGov rule, no resistance fighters had ever struck with the effectiveness of the New York group. Samovich was already frazzled over the war raging in Russia, and any kind of reaction was possible. That included some very unpleasant options.
Samovich stomped across the room, moving over to the massive wall display. The aide looked cautiously, trying to get a glimpse without drawing any unnecessary attention to himself. There were arrows on the map, right around Moscow, perhaps a dozen. Half of them pointed away from the city, to the west and south…and the others were right behind them, aimed in the same directions.
Defeat. The rumors were true. UNGov’s army had suffered a terrible reverse…and it was now in full retreat. He knew Samovich wouldn’t have taken the news from North America well in any case, but now…
“I want them dead, Major Shroeder. Do you understand me? Dead.” He turned back from the map. “I will allocate ten squads of security troops…and enough transports to get them to New York.” There was something about Samovich’s tone, something different than the usual disciplined politician’s voice. Something not entirely sane.
Shroeder looked back at Samovich, struggling to hide the tension rising inside him from showing on his expression. He knew what was coming, but all he could do was stand there and listen with growing horror.
“You will command them, Major…and you will see to it there are no further failures. Is that understood?” Samovich’s words were a naked threat.
Shroeder opened his mouth. A dozen replies raced through his mind. He could explain he wasn’t a combat officer, that he’d been posted to UNGov headquarters his entire career. He could suggest Samovich send someone else. He could beg the Secretary-General to find another officer. But as scared as he was to go, he was more terrified of challenging Samovich, especially now, when the usually ruthless head of UNGov was barely hanging on. One word from the Samovich, and the guards would put a bullet in his head.
“Y-yes, Secretary-General. I will prepare to leave at once.”
“Do that.”
Samovich turned back to the display, his eyes fixed on the arrows showing the retreat of the remnants of UNGov’s army.
Shroeder turned and moved toward the door, anxious to get away, to be anywhere but standing next to the rapidly unraveling despot who ruled the world.
“Shroeder!”
“Yes, sir?” The major stopped, eyes longingly focused on the door just a few meters away.
“I am counting on you, Major.” There was a darkness in the words that chilled Shroeder to his core. “Do not fail me. Do not fail me as so many others have…”
* * *
Wickes sat quietly, listening with rapt attention as Rod Charles spoke. The story the soldier was telling them was incredible, almost unfathomable. But the old Marine believed every word of it.
His thoughts raced. For four decades he had detested UNGov, hated the self-appointed rulers of the world. He despised them for killing freedom, for the billions who lived in squalor, for the vast numbers who disappeared in the night, never to return. But now he realized things were even worse than he’d dared to believe.
“Are you saying we fought the Tegeri for forty years for no reason? That they were never a threat?” Carson Jones had remained silent for a long time, but now he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “That all of this was a fraud. That mankind threw away its freedom over a fucking lie…and sent thousands of its soldiers to die for nothing?”
Charles nodded grimly. “Yes…I’m afraid that is what I’m saying. And my brethren were not only forced to go to war—we killed thousands of the Machines, all the while feeding on a false moral superiority. We saw ourselves as the defenders of our world, when in reality we were just murderers, unwitting tools in a terrible fraud.” He paused for an instant, continuing with his voice halting, emotional. “I killed dozens of Machines. I fired at them while they were retreating. I shot them dead in front of me. And now I know they weren’t the monsters I thought they were. I was the monster. Even our name for them is misleading. They were living beings…they lived and died just as we do.”
Wickes looked at the AOL captain, his sympathy clear in his eyes. He was a warrior too, and he related to Charles in a way the others couldn’t. Stan Wickes had suffered in his life…wounds, deprivation, harassment from UNGov. But when he’d gone to war, he’d known the reasons. He’d followed his nation’s flag, fought to preserve what little freedom had remained on Earth. He suspected his view was romanticized a bit, that the government that had sent him across the world into battle had been corrupt and deceitful as well. But nothing like the monstrous abomination that replaced it.
He tried to imagine how it would feel to find that nothing he believed was true, that all he’d fought for was a lie. That his motivations had been all wrong, that those he battled against had been in the right, and he and his comrades the aggressors. The murderers.
He looked at his Resistance comrades. “This is all shocking, I know…all that Captain Charles has told us.” he said softly. “No less to me than to any of you.” He paused. “But, I ask you, should it be? What did you think of UNGov yesterday? Of their totalitarianism, of the luxury they enjoy while people die in the streets, or in the death camps? Would you have imagined them incapable of something like this?” He stopped and looked around the room, glancing briefly toward Charles before turning back to his own people.
“What troubles me the most is my own gullibility. It is easy to condemn those who ran into UNGov’s embrace four decades ago, who gave away
their freedom, who reacted with fear of the bloodthirsty aliens they were told about with shockingly little evidence. Yet, I have detested our political masters for all that time, plotted and planned in the darkness, seeking to overthrow them. I reckoned myself wiser, stronger, more dedicated to liberty. Yet never have I questioned the essential beliefs about the war. Not once did it occur to me that the Tegeri had come to us in friendship and not as enemies.”
“But that is what happened,” Charles said softly, getting up and walking toward Wickes as he did. “And that is why we are here. That is why I have followed General Taylor across half a dozen Portals and back to Earth. We are here to right this wrong. To destroy UNGov.” Charles paused for a moment, looking around the room at the rebels. Finally, his gaze settled on Wickes. “My team is in New York because we all lived here before we were drafted. In the city, and in the communities surrounding it. UNGov has perpetrated a monstrous lie, told the world that we murdered our comrades, slaughtered thousands of fellow soldiers. Our forces have been attacked by enraged civilians, and everywhere on Earth people have been told we are monsters, no less than the Tegeri themselves.”
Charles voice was becoming louder, his anger clearer with every word. “We have come to free Earth, but UNGov’s lies have made us hated, despised…they have branded us traitors to our own species. Those lies cannot be allowed to stand. We must find our old friends, our families. We are here to convince them we are not the murderers the government has branded us, and to begin to combat this terrible fraud, one person at a time if need be. It may be slow, it may take years…but the truth must be known.” He looked right at Wickes. “Will you help us?”
