by Lee Stephen
Lilan grabbed the back of Feather’s chair. The whole of Charlie sat erect.
“Vindy locked! Vindy locked!” Thompson screamed.
Tiffany gasped as her own radar screen lit up. “Two Vindicators! Three—four Vindicators! They’re engaging!”
“They’re engaging Delta?” asked Lilan.
Thompson shouted again. “Missile launch! Blue on blue!” Those were the last words Charlie Squad heard from the Delta transport. Far behind Vulture-7, the shadows of the storm were lit by a fiery orange plume.
Lilan white-knuckled the back of Tiffany’s chair. “Delta’s down!” Tiffany hollered. “Multiple bogeys, inbound!”
“Bogeys who?” Lilan asked frantically. “The Vindicators are bogeys?”
“Yes! Yes!”
Lilan spun to the troop bay. “Buckle up, now!”
Heart pounding, Catalina grabbed hold of the flight rails with all of her strength. The rest of the crew did the same.
“They’ve launched on us, they’ve launched on us!” Tiffany looked back. “Everybody brace!”
Falling back into his seat, Lilan strapped on his harness and grabbed the guard rails.
The missile struck.
There was an ear-splitting metallic crunch as Vulture-7 shimmied then flipped. A fleeting but intense heat washed over the colonel’s face. A half-second later, the fires were sucked out into the storm.
It was like being in a vacuum. Wind whipped at Lilan’s face as he turned to look behind him. Where there had once been the back of Vulture-7, there was now a gaping hole. The entire rear third of the transport was gone—along with everyone who’d been in it. Mark. Frank. Demorian. Leonard. They were just gone.
Momentum took over. His body locked up. Struggling, he turned his head to look directly across from him. Strom was still strapped in, but he looked unconscious—or dead. Tom, Donald, and Javon were wide-eyed, but motionless against the rippling inertia. Catalina and Leslie were looking forward, screaming. Fighting to turn his head, Lilan looked out the cockpit.
Water. He could see its reflection in the flashes of lightning. They were about to crash into Lake Drummond. Gripping his armrests, Lilan watched as Tiffany desperately fought to pull up the ship’s nose.
Pull up, Feathers! Though he couldn’t gather the awareness to scream the words, they raced through his mind. Feathers, pull up!
The Vulture’s nose eased upward. But it wasn’t enough. Any second now, they were going to hit. Any second now.
Any second.
Impact.
* * *
EDEN COMMAND
PACING PAST THE holographic globe with his hands clasped behind his back, Benjamin Archer breathed with impatient anxiety. His amber gaze focused on the corners of the ceilings, chin upheld as Rath observed from across the room. Sparse few others were there—co-conspirators hand-picked by Carol June.
Finally, the voice came.
“All airborne targets intercepted,” said Kang on their private channel. “Strike teams prepping for ground assault.”
Archer rested his hands on the holographic globe’s guard rail. No one else said a word.
PART II
22
THURSDAY, MARCH 15TH, 0012 NE
0242 HOURS
GREAT DISMAL SWAMP
VULTURE-7 STRUCK the water at a seventy degree angle, belly first. Lilan’s limbs flailed in all directions as the impacts came one after the other. The transport caught air, then it skipped, then it plunged nosefirst into the lake. It cart-wheeled upside-down as water surged into the open troop bay hole.
Lilan’s head was jostled in every direction as water flooded into the transport. All around him, things sparked and erupted. Warm liquid dripped from his face and arms. Blood. Sucking in a hard breath, his hands frantically unfastened his seat strap as water gushed over his body. The moment he was free, he pushed away from his seat and righted himself. Then everything was submerged.
A pair of hands pushed past him; there was no way to tell who they belonged to. Blindly, he felt for the other seats. There was no sinking sensation, almost as if the ship had already hit bottom. He could hear the muffled splattering of raindrops, even under the water. The belly of its hull was still above water.
The lake was shallow.
Hurrying through the cabin, Lilan felt frantically for anyone still strapped in. Feathers. Swimming forward through the transport’s remains, he felt Tiffany’s listless body still strapped to its chair. Unfastening her, he pulled the blonde back through the cockpit opening. Holding her under his arm, he swam them out of the ship and to the surface.
As soon as Lilan’s head broke the surface, he gasped violently for air, squirming to bring Tiffany’s head up as well. Rain pounded them like liquid bullets. Ripping off her helmet, he threw it aside. She wasn’t moving.
Whipping his head around, Lilan searched for anyone else on the surface. “Somebody!” Amid the flashes of lightning, he could make out the form of at least two others.
“Coach!”
Javon Quinton. The soldier immediately swam Lilan’s way. “Take her!” Lilan said. “Take her to shore! I’m going back down.” Tiffany was transferred into Javon’s arms; Lilan plunged beneath the surface again.
Swimming blindly through the wreckage, Lilan felt around the seats for anyone else. He found two of them: Strom and Catalina. Save her first. Unstrapping Catalina, he wrapped his arms around her. She squirmed as soon as she was free. She was alive.
Propelling out again, Lilan brought her out of the water. As soon as her head broke the surface, Catalina let loose a blood-curdling scream.
“Shivers!” Holding onto her shoulders to keep her afloat, he rotated her to face him. “Can you swim? Can you make it to shore?” He released her tentatively, and her head immediately sunk back under. Grabbing her again, he tugged her back up.
She was panicked. “My leg! I can’t!”
“Shivers! Listen to me!” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at his eyes. “You have to stay up. Use your arms. You can do it.” He just needed enough time to pull out Strom and whoever else was trapped.
Catalina slung her hair from her face just as Lilan released her. Once again, she sank, only to pop up a moment later, arms flailing desperately, only to sink again in the next second. She couldn’t make herself stay afloat. Her screams were of pure torture.
Her leg had to be broken.
There was no one else to take her to safety. No one else to free him so he could save whoever was left in the ship. If he let go of Catalina, she’d drown. Abandoning the prospect of saving anyone else, he grabbed her tightly and fought to swim away. There was nothing else he could do. “Hold onto me,” he said. “Grab my back!” She struggled to comply.
Rain hammered against the surface of the lake. Every drop that hit Lilan stung. With visibility at near zero, he was forced to rely on lightning flashes to make out any of the environment around them. He knew the direction Javon had gone with Tiffany. All he could do was follow. And hope that he was swimming in a straight line.
Shot down. Intercepted, not by Noboats or Ceratopian ships, but by EDEN vessels—Vultures and Vindicators. Looking back briefly, Lilan watched as one of the hostile transports descended over the wreckage of Vulture-7. Pausing in the water, Lilan observed.
Could it have been a mistake? Some sort of radar malfunction? A friendly fire disaster? Spotlights shone from the Vulture onto the wreckage. Were they looking for survivors?
The Vulture’s nose-mounted cannon erupted orange. Bullets peppered the wreckage of Vulture-7. Lilan watched as its remnants were ripped to shreds.
This wasn’t a mistake at all. This was a hit.
Turning back around, Lilan swam harder. He had to make it to shore. With every lightning flash, he could see it grow closer.
Swim!
Catalina clung to him as he kept onward. Closer. Closer. His feet touched bottom. With the next flash, he could see them, Javon and at least several others, clustered on the
shoreline.
Sloshing through the surf, Lilan eased Catalina around until he could carry her. As he tromped out of Lake Drummond, Tom King met him.
“What in the hell was that?” Tom was hysterical. “What in the hell was that?”
“Back off, King!”
Catalina’s head rolled as she scanned the marshy beach. “Tiff...”
Lilan carried her on land; he scanned the survivors. Javon, Tiffany, Tom, and Donald. That was it. Every other member of Charlie Squad had been lost.
“She’s hurt,” Lilan said to Javon.
The soldier reached out for Catalina. “I’ll carry her, coach.”
“No time! Get everyone to the swamp, now! How’s Feathers?”
“She a’ight. She lightheaded, but a’ight.”
“Get her up. Get everyone up and to cover! They’ll kill us if they see us.” He’d witnessed it firsthand. Glancing behind, he watched the enemy Vulture hover toward the shore. It wasn’t moving right at them, but it was too close for comfort. They were probably scanning for survivors.
Donald Bell was bent over on the ground, exasperated. Lilan could only guess how he’d made it to shore. Maybe Tom had helped him. “Get up, Bell!” The demolitionist obeyed.
Staggering to her feet, Tiffany pushed back her hair and stumbled forward. Javon rushed to help her to cover.
The six soaked survivors trudged into the marsh near the shore. Not a weapon, comm, or full set of armor was on any of them. Almost everything had been lost in the lake.
Lilan eased Catalina down atop the mud. The Canadian’s face was twisting in agony. “I need to feel your leg, Shivers.” He had to know what kind of condition she was in. Moving his hand over her leg, it took him barely a second to locate her injury. Her fibula was completely snapped. He could see it bulging beneath the skin by her calf. It was a miracle that it hadn’t punctured through.
“Quinton, find a stick!” Lilan said, focusing on Catalina immediately afterward. “I’m going to have to set this. It’s going to hurt.”
Tiffany woozily knelt by their side. The pilot’s forehead was bleeding. She was dazed, maybe concussed, but she was aware. She clutched Catalina’s hand.
“That was a hell of a job, Feathers,” Lilan said, eyes still on Catalina. “I don’t know how you did that.” They should have all been dead. Crash landings like that weren’t supposed to leave survivors.
As soon as Javon approached with a stick, Lilan placed it between Catalina’s teeth. “Bite on this, Shivers. I have to do this. It’s going to hurt.”
Panic-stricken, Catalina clamped her teeth around the stick. Her breaths grew heavy. Lilan placed his hands on the sides of the break.
“Oh God!” Catalina mumbled. “Oh God!”
Snap!
The shriek that erupted from Catalina’s vocal chords was excruciating. Her body twisted as her back arched up. The crown of her head dug into the mud.
“It’s done!” Lilan said. “It’s done—that’s it!”
Her wails continued.
Donald tapped Lilan on the shoulder. “Coach, they comin’!” The demolitionist pointed at the shoreline, where the EDEN Vulture was about to touch down.
Whipping back to Catalina, Lilan said, “I know it hurts, Shivers, but you have to stay quiet! You have to. Do it to keep us alive.” The Canadian’s moans were forced back.
The transport continued its approach. “Everyone, take cover!” Waving them behind trees and brush, Lilan scooped up Catalina and slid behind a stump. Clutching her against his chest, he leaned his head back and waited. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Catalina was whimpering uncontrollably. “It’s going to be okay.” Turning his head slowly, he watched the Vulture around the corner of the stump.
Engines whining, the transport revolved then landed on the shore. It couldn’t have been more than thirty meters away. Were it not for the downpour, the survivors would have surely been spotted. The aggressors simply didn’t know they were there.
The transport’s rear bay door lowered to the mud, and all at once, a squad of soldiers filed out. Lilan could hear them talking—shouting over the thunder and rain. They were clustering at the water’s edge.
“What are they doin’?” Javon asked from the next nearest tree.
Lilan shook his head. “I don’t know.” It didn’t look like they were hunting survivors. They almost walked nonchalantly. But what Lilan saw next really threw him for a loop. The transport’s pilot joined them, too. The Vulture was abandoned. “What in the hell?” Whatever the cause, every single enemy operative was out of the troop bay, which Lilan could plainly see from his angle. Every last one of them was mingling on the shoreline.
“I can take it,” Tiffany said. Lilan looked her way as she stared at him. “I can get in the ship. I can take it.”
It was the most irrational suggestion he’d ever heard. But so was the notion of EDEN shooting their own ships. If Tiffany could somehow get in that Vulture, if she could lift off, if she could turn its cannons on the aggressors, then pick up Lilan and the survivors...they might have a chance. A chance to what? He didn’t know. All he knew was that surviving in the swamp wasn’t an option. Not in their shape. Not with armed hostiles hunting them down. Once she was airborne, Tiffany could comm Hutchin from the transport. As insane as it sounded, it might be their only chance. Turning to Tiffany, he looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure you can do this?” For all he knew, she was suffering from a concussion.
She nodded determinedly.
That was all he needed to see. “Seal yourself in the ship, get on the radio, and comm General Hutchin. We’re going to work our way that direction,” he pointed along the lake’s shoreline. “I want you to get off the ground, take out as many of those hostiles as you can, then pick us up.” There was no doubt that Hutchin would send help. These enemy ships hadn’t been sent from Richmond—they’d approached from a totally different direction.
Pushing her hair back, Tiffany tied it into a ponytail.
“Hey,” said Javon to her, “you want me to go with you?”
Lilan cut off the request. “No. The fewer the better. She’s going alone because she can be quiet.”
Blowing out a breath, Tiffany looked at Catalina. The two locked eyes for a moment, then Tiffany prepared to move.
“Be careful, Tiff,” said the wincing Canadian.
“I will. I’ll be back.” Giving the others a final glance, Tiffany moved from her cover to weave toward the ship.
* * *
EDEN COMMAND
AT THE SAME TIME
“ALL SHIPS ARE abandoned, all fighter pilots ejected,” said Kang over the War Room speaker. “Engaging autopilots for Novosibirsk and preparing to dispatch Superwolves for intercept.”
One arm folded across his chest in the War Room, Archer’s free hand covered his mouth from view. As the holographic globe highlighted the Vultures’ and Vindicators’ positions, one of the operators approached the British judge. “Sir, I’m getting more calls from Richmond. They’ve already identified the ships as Novosibirsk’s and are requesting permission to intercept.”
“Deny them,” said Archer calmly. “Tell them we have Superwolves en route.”
“Sir, they want to know what’s going on.” The operator sounded desperate. “I can’t tell them nothing.”
Archer looked at him. “Tell them we have a situation—say nothing more. Send a message to the global network to put all bases on orange alert.”
“Yes, sir,” the operator said, taking a step away before turning back. “Wait, you said all bases?”
The judge’s stare returned to the globe. “Yes, lieutenant. Don’t question me again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Archer’s voice rose. “Ears, gentlemen! As of this moment, we are responding to a matter of global security, not organizing an incident! This room is about to be very full. We must all play our roles.” The room full of conspirators affirmed, and Archer nodded to another operator. “Notify the Council, then
call Russia’s President Belikov. His country’s largest base just declared war on EDEN.”
A squadron of Superwolves appeared on the globe, plotting lines taking them on an intercept course with the six ships from Novosibirsk.
“Get ready, Carol,” Archer murmured to himself. “You’re about to be a busy woman.”
* * *
SLIDING IN THE mud, Tiffany pressed her back against a tree near the shoreline. The EDEN soldiers were still clustered by the water’s edge, leaving the transport’s bay door undefended.
Briefly, she surveyed the Vulture. Its hull was charred and worn. It looked more like a ship in line to be demolished than to fly. She gazed at the tail fin, where she saw the remnants of what appeared to be some kind of logo.
Like some kind of dog.
Catalina in his arms, Lilan and the rest of the survivors moved stealthily through the marsh. Though Lilan occasionally glanced back to see if he could spot the pilot’s progress, he knew they couldn’t afford to slow down. He had to trust Tiffany to get the job done.
Easing around the tree, Tiffany wiped the water droplets from her face. The hostiles were still clustered by the shore, completely unaware.
Crouching low, the pilot made her break. Positioning the Vulture between her and the hostiles, she bolted toward it, leapt up the ramp, then burst into the troop bay. The cockpit was ahead.
Whhhrrrrrr.
At the unexpected sound, Tiffany skidded to a halt. She whipped her head toward the rear bay door. It was closing by itself. Gasping wideeyed, she watched as it sealed her in. Immediately, the ship’s thrusters began to rumble.
“Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” Dashing to the cockpit, she inspected the controls. What she saw made her go rigid. The console was in ruin. Scorch marks were everywhere, like it’d been through a crash. She reached for the ship’s comm, only to realize after her hand was extended that there was none. There was only a vacant socket. The autopilot indicator—one of the few functional components to be seen—began to urgently flash green. Heart pounding, she flipped the switch for manual control. The autopilot overrode it. Freezing in the seat, Tiffany clutched her scalp with both hands.
