Homefront: Portal Wars III

by Jay Allan

  Daniels hadn’t been more than two meters from Taylor since…and he didn’t intend to get any farther. He made no effort to hide his disdain for their makeshift ally, and the two had almost come to blows twice since they mounted the airships. He had promised the Drogov he’d kill the bastard the instant he decided it was necessary. Daniels knew Drogov was dangerous, but he wasn’t scared of the UNGov henchman. Hank Daniels rated himself a match for the worst thug UNGov could throw at him…Supersoldier, veteran, survivor of ten years on Erastus.

  “How much farther?” Taylor asked Drogov. The UNGov assassin—at least that’s how Daniels saw him—was walking next to Taylor. And Daniels was just behind, ready to carry out his promise at the first sign of treachery.

  “Less than a kilometer. We will come up in the sub-cellar of the UNGov headquarters. There is an express elevator that leads to the Secretariat levels, but I don’t have the override codes for that. The second we activate it, alarms will go off. And we need to get as close as possible before we’re detected.”

  “Stairs?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes. That’s the best chance to get up there without being detected. We’ll probably run into some intermittent foot traffic, but if we take them out before they can communicate with anybody we should be okay.”

  “That building is a kilometer in height…that’s what, at least three hundred flights of stairs? And there must be some detection devices in there, something that will pick up the sounds of a skirmish or the movement of so many soldiers. So, we’ll be fighting our way up at least some portion of it.”

  “Yes. I suggest we leave forces at various points behind us. If we are detected, we need a rearguard to keep enemy from taking us from behind.” Drogov paused. “I’d suggest leaving my men behind, as they will tire more quickly than your enhanced warriors…but I doubt you’re prepared to trust me to that extent.”

  Daniels made a face at the very idea that they would leave his cutthroats and murderers behind them without supervision, but then Taylor said, “I do not trust you at all, Mr. Drogov…but your suggestion makes sense. We will use your men to protect our flank, but you will remain with me until this mission is completed and we have made our escape.”

  Daniels almost spoke up, but Taylor’s last sentence carried a menace with it that reassured him his commander was as untrusting as he was. And he thought he understood his friend’s rationale. We’ll be leaving them behind us, but we’ll have Drogov…and he doesn’t seem like the self-sacrificing type. And the main force will be mostly our men.

  “There,” Drogov said, pointing forward. The tunnel widened into a large round room. He ran forward, through the room to a large panel on the far wall. Taylor was startled by the quick movement, and Daniels saw the general’s hand drop to the pistol at his side.

  “I have disabled the security.” Drogov turned and pointed toward the ceiling. “There is the hatch. There should be no alarm when I open it.”

  “Should be?” Taylor stepped forward after Drogov, his hand moving slowly from his gun.

  “Yes, General, should be. Though you do not trust me, I am being very honest with you. I believe I am privy to all security protocols, but it is not impossible that Anton has some safeguards he has kept to himself in case I turned against him.”

  “In which case…”

  “In which case, we’ll have a harder fight to get to the top.”

  Taylor turned and looked back, his eyes meeting Daniels’. “In which case, we will resort to plan B, Mr. Drogov.” He waved his arm, beckoning one of his officers to come forward. “Major Quinn…”

  “Sir!” The Supersoldier moved up and stopped in front of Taylor, snapping to attention.

  “You are to keep two squads here, Major. You are to activate the device immediately.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Device? What device?” Drogov turned and looked back at Taylor, a confused look on his face.

  “As you said yourself, Mr. Drogov, I do not trust you. It is not only treachery that concerns me but even honest failure. Whatever happens, we cannot risk allowing Secretary Samovich to murder billions of innocents. Which is why I have brought a backup plan with me. A nuclear warhead strong enough to vaporize this building, taking Samovich with it.” Taylor paused, staring back at Drogov. “Indeed, I would leave it here now, and detonate it remotely if I knew for certain Samovich was in the building. But I cannot take the risk that he is elsewhere, in a bunker or far enough away to survive the blast. If we destroy this building and fail to kill him, he will undoubtedly destroy the cities.”

  Taylor continued to stare at Drogov. “You seem surprised. I trust it is not my willingness to destroy this whole building, to kill thousands of UNGov personnel, that is the cause of your bewilderment. Why is it that the most brutal and evil of men always seem surprised when their adversaries prove willing to employ their own tactics? Perhaps you view me as some kind of sympathetic creature, one unwilling to do the things you would do.”

  Taylor walked forward until he was standing right next to Drogov. “So know this, Alexi Drogov. If you do anything—anything at all—that I feel interferes with this mission, I will kill you before you know it is even coming. If destroying Geneva is what I must do to kill Samovich, that is what I will do, with no more thought to its millions of citizens than your former master showed for those in New York.”

  Taylor stood stone still, glaring at Drogov with an expression that defined cold rage. “I will kill whomever I must, Mr. Drogov, including Secretary Samovich, you, all your men…and every last man, women, and child in this cursed city. You are alive because you are useful to me, and if you wish to stay alive, you will seek to remain so. And know this…if we fail in killing Samovich, if we are defeated by security forces or prevented in any way from completing this mission, Major Quinn and his men will detonate this warhead. So, understand…there is no scenario save total success that offers you the slightest chance of survival. If you want to live long enough to see if I choose to honor my promises, you will stay focused…and do whatever it takes to see your former boss—your former friend—does not survive the next hour.”

  Drogov just stared back, struggling but failing to keep the surprise off his face.

  “Now, Mr. Drogov…you elected to make a deal with the devil…and that is just what you have done.” Taylor turned back toward Quinn. “You have your orders, Major. If we do not return or contact you in one hour, you are to detonate the device. If you are discovered and attacked by UNGov security forces, you are to detonate the device. If you feel you are in any way threatened by Mr. Drogov’s men, you are to detonate the device.” Taylor paused. “I am counting on you, Geoff. We have fought together since the early days on Erastus, and I trust you. I trust you to follow my orders and detonate that device…even if I am still in the building. Even if all of us are still in the building.” He paused again. “Even if you and your men are unable to escape.”

  “Yes, General Taylor. You can count on me, sir.”

  Taylor nodded. Then he turned back toward Drogov. “Shall we go? Time is not on our side.”

  Drogov swallowed hard. He was generally unflappable, confident that his abilities exceeded those of his enemies. But there was something about Taylor, something that unnerved him. He’d harbored thoughts of betrayal, of turning on Taylor after Samovich was dead. But now he found himself experiencing feelings he never had. He was afraid of Taylor. More afraid than he’d ever been of anyone or anything.

  “Yes, General,” he said meekly. “I am ready.”

  Chapter 26

  Excerpt from Preliminary Status Report, New York City:

  Preliminary casualty estimate are 3,800,000-4,300,000 dead, with in excess of 1,800,000 critically injured. Over 2,000,000 remain missing. Many of the wounded have been subjected to untreatably lethal radiation doses, with projected survival periods ranging from two to fourteen days. Property damage assessments are as follow: Manhattan, 99.9% total destruction of physical plant; Brookly
n, 96.4% total destruction of physical plant; Queens, 89.3% total destruction of physical plant…

  Wickes felt like his insides were coming apart. He was on his hands and knees, retching hard. But there was nothing save a bit of foam, tinged pink now with blood. He’d been on the move for two days, and he hadn’t eaten a thing. Just the thought of food make his stomach lurch. All he’d had was two liters of water, and he’d made that last as long as he could. But it was gone now, and his throat was parched, the acid from his stomach making the pain sharper each time he fell to the ground and vomited.

  He’d had the usual basic radiation battle procedures training half a century before, and he tried to remember as much as he could. He knew he’d taken a heavy dose, possibly a lethal one, or maybe survivable, at least with treatment. Which he wasn’t likely to get. So considering the severity of his symptoms, he settled on effectively lethal.

  Still, he kept moving, unwilling to yield to the urge to give up, to lie down on the grass somewhere and wait for death. There didn’t seem to be much point to it. He wasn’t likely to get anywhere walking through the abandoned New Jersey suburbs. UNGov had herded the millions who’d lived here into New York and the coastal neighborhoods facing it, leaving hundreds of towns eerily empty, most of the abandoned buildings still standing, decaying slowly.

  He pushed himself back up to his feet, fighting off the dizziness that almost sent him falling to the ground. The fatigue was almost unbearable, but he pushed forward. He was walking down an old highway. The asphalt was broken up and full of holes, but there was still enough flat area to stumble along.

  He walked a bit, perhaps half a kilometer. Then he stopped. There was a sound. At first he couldn’t place it, but then he realized it was behind him…coming from above. He turned and looked up at the sky, still dark and obscured by the ash and dust cloud from New York. But he saw something, a tiny dot, moving. Then another.

  He stared intently as the figures came closer, until he could see enough to know. They were airships of some kind. And they were heading toward him.

  His first thought was hallucination. The radiation sickness…it was affecting his mind. But the ships got closer, and he could hear them now as well as see them. It seemed real, too real.

  Then he counted them. There were half a dozen. No, seven. There had only been five AOL craft, and he knew for certain that one of those was twisted wreckage that would never fly again.

  UNGov…

  It had to be. They’d destroyed New York, and now they were hunting for survivors. He stood and stared as the ships approached. Then he reached down and pulled the pistol from his belt. He had no intention of being captured. And he wasn’t going down without a fight either.

  He swallowed a deep breath of air, trying to steady the rolling in his stomach. Then gripped the gun tightly, his finger on the trigger.

  Just one more fight…and then it will be over…

  And I will be with my old comrades…

  * * *

  The fire reverberated through the enclosed space of the stairwell, a cacophony almost deafening to Taylor’s enhanced ears. His people had fought three firefights as they climbed the stairs. The first two had been over almost immediately, and the UNGov security personnel had been killed before they could communicate any kind of alarm. The third had just begun, and it looked like it was going to be a much nastier fight.

  “We’ve got more security forces backed up into the hall, Jake.” Hank Daniels was standing between Taylor and the enemy, clearly trying to hide the deliberative nature of his positioning. “I think the shit just hit the fan.”

  “We’ve got to move then, push them back to the door and take the fight out of the stairwell.” Taylor looked at Daniels. “I need you to do it, Hank. Once you drive them off the stairwell, I’ll head up and find Samovich.” Taylor could see the concern in his friend’s face, the horror at the thought of Taylor going on without him. “Hank, I know you’re worried about Drogov…but I need you to do this. It’s our only chance. That psychotic asshole up there could start destroying cities any minute. There’s no time.”

  “I know, Jake, but…”

  “There are no ‘buts,’ Hank. You’ve been at my side a long time, old friend. You know I can take care of myself. Now do this, take that landing and push the UNGov forces back onto the floor. It’s just a few more flights to the top. I can be up there in a few seconds.”

  Daniels didn’t look happy, but he nodded anyway. “Okay, Jake. I’ve got this.” He turned without another word, waving and yelling to the Supersoldiers at the front of the column. “Let’s clear these pieces of shit, boys!”

  Daniels lunged forward, firing with his assault rifle as he bounded up the stairs at the head of his troops. The UNGov forces had better cover, and their fire cut into the AOL troopers. Supersoldier mods didn’t do much for soldiers packed into a narrow stairwell, rushing up into automatic fire. Daniels’ troops fired too, their accuracy almost uncanny, but every UNGov guard they shot down was replaced immediately.

  Daniels was right in the front, rushing into the deadly fire. His men were falling around him, two hit…then four. But they kept running.

  Daniels leaned down, grabbing a rifle from one of his stricken soldiers, firing now with a gun in each hand as he lunged up to the landing and blasted away through the door.

  “Go, Jake,” he screamed as he pushed through the door and onto the floor beyond. “Good luck, my friend.”

  Taylor watched Daniels with admiration and amazement. He’d known Hank Daniels as long as he could remember, but he was still surprised by the strength and courage of his old friend. But there was no time, now, not for admiration…not to worry about Daniels, to respond to the feeling in his gut, the fear that he’d just sent yet another friend to his death.

  “Let’s go,” he yelled, glancing behind him as he did. His soldiers had been running by, following Daniels up the stairs and through the heavy door. Taylor spotted one of his veterans, a man he’d fought with on Erastus, back when they’d both been normal soldiers. “Captain Turren, bring three squads and follow me.” He stood where he was and yelled. “Everybody else, follow General Daniels!”

  Taylor’s eyes snapped to Turren. The officer nodded and said, “Ready, sir!”

  Taylor returned the nod. Then he raced up the stairs, ignoring the residual fire still rattling around the stairwell.

  Three more flights. Then the final showdown.

  Assuming Samovich is there. If he isn’t, four billion people will die.

  And I will kill Alexi Drogov myself.

  * * *

  Wickes was exhausted, beaten. He knew he was dead. And he was ready. He thought again of New York, of the millions dead, a great city gone, reduced to a few twisted bits of metal, poisoned by radiation. Of friends dead, of men and women who’d followed him. All dead.

  He’d felt the elation of victory, the surge of excitement that New York had been freed, that North America was in open rebellion. For an instant, he’d let himself believe it was possible. That UNGov could be defeated. But that hope disappeared in a storm of nuclear fury. New York was gone…and he had no doubt the same fate awaited any other city that threw off the yoke of UNGov.

  If it hasn’t happened already…is Boston still there? Philadelphia? Chicago?

  He hadn’t moved. He would stand right where he was, meet the enemy here for the last time. He had no illusions. This was his last battle, and it wouldn’t last long. Indeed, the enemy could have blasted him from the air. The fact that they hadn’t suggested they wanted to take him prisoner, another victim for their interrogation chambers. Wickes had no intention of being taken alive, but he intended to use whatever opportunities he had to take some of the enemy with him.

  The ships were on the ground, and he could see figures emerging. He couldn’t make out much in the shadowy gloom, but that didn’t matter. Their attempt to take him captive would give him one final gift. A chance to kill his enemies one final time.

  H
e’d had his gun in his hand, but he reholstered it. They had to believe he was surrendering…at least until they were close enough. Then…

  He saw them coming, a dozen at least. He knew he couldn’t kill them all, not before they took him down. But the numbers didn’t matter. What was important was that he die fighting, weapon in hand, true to his cause to the end. Death was inevitable, all he had left of free choice was to determine how he died.

  He watched as they came forward.

  They should fan out more…they’re all clumped together. An easy target. Sloppy.

  He squeezed his hand, trying to gather his fleeting strength for the last few seconds, the final battle. He focused on the lead figure, obviously the commander. Just a few more steps…

  “Don’t move,” the soldier in the front said. His voice was firm, demanding. But there was something odd. He’d heard UNGov enforcers for decades, and they shared an arrogance, one he didn’t hear now.

  No, no distractions…

  His hand moved slowly toward his pistol.

  Just another step…

  “Are you one of Captain Charles’ men? Or a member of the New York Resistance?”

  Wait…something’s not right.

  His hand twitched, ready to lunge for the weapon. But something held him back.

  “I am Major Arlington, Army of Liberation,” the man yelled. “Please, stand where you are. Don’t make us shoot you…”