Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone

by Myke Cole

  He pointed at the top of the barricade, where another Fornax Novice flew clumsily, sheeting down lightning over the T-walls. He landed on top of a plastic water buffalo they’d rigged for gravity feed, doubled over, and vomited, shivering from fear. ‘That’s all I’ve got to turn back this tide. I need you.’

  Downer was quiet. Harlequin was about to speak again when she finally said, ‘On the flight over here, I heard the crew talking. They don’t like you very much.’

  Harlequin nodded. ‘They wouldn’t. While you were locked up, I went . . . a little rogue myself, I guess.’

  ‘You? You’re the one who always told me to get in the manual. Christ, I believed all that.’

  ‘It’s still true, Sarah, but even I have my limits. The system’s not perfect, but the ideals behind it are. They’re what I swore to defend. When the system and the ideals are at odds, I know where my allegiance lies.’ His own words echoed back to him. The thought had plagued him since he’d defied his president and saved the FOB. Who are you? What are you doing? And here he stood, answering his own question.

  Downer didn’t notice. ‘Then why aren’t you in jail?’

  Harlequin thought of the irony of his situation and shrugged, amazed at how simple the answer was. ‘There’s more than one system, Sarah. The public’s got a system, too, and theirs covers a lot more people than the government’s does. Our system, in the end, is made to serve theirs. What I did went public, and folks generally approve. I’m sure the president would like to see me right next to you in a cell, but he no longer has a choice.’

  Downer’s eyes widened. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it. But, first, I need you to make me an army of elementals.’

  ‘I didn’t agree to help you.’

  Harlequin shook his head. ‘There isn’t time, Sarah.’ He pointed to the line of T-walls, the steady stream of rounds coming from the defenders, the amateur bursts of barely controlled magic from the Fornax Novices. ‘It’s getting worse out there every second.’

  ‘So what if I don’t . . .’ Downer was cut off by a shrieking rumble, the whining of jet turbines streaking overhead. Harlequin turned to see two low-flying aircraft shoot across the sky, gone so quickly he could almost believe he had imagined them if not for the contrails in their wake. An instant later he heard the low-throaty buzz of their 30mm cannons, the resounding echo of exploding glass and concrete.

  He used his magic then, heedless of what Downer would do with it, raising himself high enough above the barricade wall to see the chaos the aircraft were unleashing below.

  The line of Broadway was a slurry of tattered flesh and chewed concrete, fragments of goblins, giants, and rocs alike sprawling in the smoking wreckage. Here and there, Harlequin could make out other bodies. Civilians caught in the mess. He shuddered, wondering if the SOF teams still moving out there had been forewarned. Sharp, Archer.

  A higher, fainter whine echoed above the cloud cover, and tracer fire showered down at a steep angle, sweeping the path the low-flying A-10s had just cleared. Somewhere overhead, one of the huge AC-130 Specter gunships was circling, lining up its massive cannon.

  He knew where it was heading.

  The A-10s circled back, banked sharply over Battery Park, and headed up toward Wall Street.

  Harlequin toggled his commlink. ‘Cormack! Get me through to Gatanas right now! There are civilians down there!’

  Cormack’s response was grainy. ‘McGuire radioed in about thirty seconds ago, sir.’ Making sure I had no time to object. ‘They say the strike zone is clear.’

  ‘The strike zone is not clear, damn it!’

  ‘They’re going to take out the enemy HQ. They say she’s in there, they’ve got solid intel.’

  Harlequin had been in the Army long enough to know exactly what ‘solid intel’ meant. ‘Scylla’s not an idiot! That’s exactly what she wants! Get those airframes waved off!’

  There was a pause. ‘I’ll let them know, sir.’

  But it was too late. The stutter of the cannons sounded louder, the A-10s and the Specter directing the full fury of their fire at the soaring tower of the Trump Building. The huge structure vibrated, the green sheen of the bronze peak scintillating as it shed the corrosion built over decades. Chunks of concrete exploded from the surface. Flame blossomed across the building as gas jets blew, electrical infrastructure caught fire.

  The A-10s banked out of the way of the Specter’s cascade of fire, letting loose their Mavericks, the missiles flashing across the sky so quickly that they left glowing imprints in Harlequin’s vision. The thundering explosion shook the landscape. Harlequin could see every living creature, soldier, goblin, giant, even Gahe crouch at the resounding boom. All around Wall Street, there was screaming as masonry collapsed on top of the living, a huge plume of dust arcing skyward.

  And then the aircraft had cleared off, circling once back over the building and heading back toward their flight lines in New Jersey. The Specter probably still circled far above, keeping its eye on the target, radioing the battle-damage assessment back to mission control.

  They would be satisfied, Harlequin thought. The spire smoked, the regal stonework already chewed to dust, rebar, and I-beams. The bronze finial was a patchwork of green and molten brown-black, flames rising from ragged holes that used to be windows.

  As he watched, the spire and structure beneath it, ranging down some three stories, teetered to one side, the masonry beneath it collapsing. It hung over Wall Street for a brief moment, then tumbled over and down, bouncing off the building and crashing to the street. The cloud of dust billowed upward obscuring everything, save the Trump building’s top, now headless and burning brightly.

  Harlequin bit back a scream. He’d seen this before. Just like her old building.

  He descended back to Downer in the eerie silence that followed.

  ‘That’s what happens, Sarah. If the enemy breaks out of here, that’s what will happen everywhere.’

  ‘Why the hell did they do that?’ she asked.

  ‘They thought Scylla was in there.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Of course not. Scylla’s many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.’ He turned and headed into Castle Clinton, not waiting to see if Downer followed.

  Cormack already had the VTC set up, with Gatanas shouting at him from the other end. Harlequin put his fists on the table. ‘Well done, sir. I’m not sure how many people you just killed, but I know one you didn’t.’

  Gatanas didn’t take the bait. ‘I see she’s arrived,’ he said, looking past Harlequin’s shoulder.

  Harlequin turned to see Downer coming into the building behind him, her expression inscrutable.

  ‘No more airstrikes,’ he said, turning back to Gatanas’s image on the monitor. ‘I promise you that little exercise will be all over the Internet in approximately five minutes. It’s not going to make my job any easier.’

  ‘It will if we just took out their command structure in one shot.’

  ‘But you didn’t, sir. I already told you, Scylla wanted you to tear that building up. Why the hell do you think she chose the tallest and most visible landmark south of the barricades? Because she likes the view?’

  Gatanas was silent.

  ‘Scylla is trying to introduce a new order here, sir. She’s smart enough to know that an army of monsters isn’t going to do that. She needs propaganda victories like the one you just handed her. I need to drive her out of here without blowing up any more buildings.’

  ‘Are you done?’ Gatanas asked.

  ‘I’m just getting warmed up, sir. Downer is a great start, but I need more. How is it going with Canada and Mexico? Where’s Bookbinder? When last I spoke to him, we had two warships inbound to intercept.’

  ‘Bookbinder is still inbound.’ Gatanas looked
uncomfortable. ‘Mexico and Canada are deliberating. There’s not a lot of goodwill toward the United States thanks to the stunt you pulled with FOB Frontier. A lot of countries are accusing us of colluding with India to take some kind of strategic advantage in the Source.’

  ‘That’s bullshit. We didn’t even know India had a FOB until our own was in danger of falling.’

  ‘Well, you reap what you sow, Lieutenant Colonel. I’m doing what I can from here.’ Gatanas did indeed look sleepless, his uniform rumpled, a day’s growth of stubble on his face. Life’s rough all over.

  ‘We don’t have time, sir. More enemy come out of that gate every minute. River’s got them hemmed in on all sides, but the northern barricades are now held by two training Covens. They break through, and this entire island is toast. How’s the evacuation coming?’

  Gatanas was silent.

  ‘Jesus, sir.’

  ‘The mayor gave the order. The people have other ideas. New York City practically functions like its own state. You have to realize how much money this place has, it’s like the de facto capital of the country.’

  ‘So people keep telling me. Rich, important people die just as easily as everyone else in my experience. GAU-8’s tend to do a pretty good job of that, actually.’ His reference to the A-10 cannons wasn’t lost on Gatanas, who purpled again and stabbed a finger toward him.

  ‘When this is over, you are going to learn a thing or two about how to be a team player.’

  ‘I’m sure I am, sir. Looking forward to it,’ Harlequin said.

  ‘For now, I need you to get your ass up to the UN.’

  ‘The UN?’

  Gatanas nodded. ‘And you don’t have a whole lot of time either. They’re in the process of winding down to a skeleton crew. Depending on how things evolve here, I’m not certain how much longer the Security Council will be able to convene in New York. China’s lobbying pretty hard to have the body moved “temporarily” to Beijing.’

  ‘Don’t we have a . . . representative or something up there?’

  ‘We do, but he’s not Latent and he’s not in the middle of the arcane fight, as you keep reminding me and every other conventional-element commander you come in contact with. As of fifteen minutes ago, the representatives from Mexico and Canada were still in the building. You’re a public figure now, Thorsson. Get up there, tell them what’s going on down here. Tell them what’s at stake. Break them loose.’

  ‘How much time do I have?’

  ‘Ambassador Hallert is expecting you. Go now.’

  ‘On it.’ Harlequin broke the connection and turned to Downer. ‘You’re in or you’re out. I’ll make do either way.’

  She looked at him, arms folded, nodded. ‘Okay.’

  He exhaled, weakness flooding him. He steadied himself with a hand on the table, hoping she didn’t notice. ‘Thank you. I promise when this is over, we’ll find a way to make it right. What they did to you.’

  ‘A pardon,’ she said, ‘a full pardon. Some guarantee that I don’t go back into a cell. I know I’m a Probe, but they’re going to have to make an exception. And this is the last thing I do for you. For any of you. You make that happen.’

  ‘I will,’ he said.

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Can you?’

  ‘I have no idea, Sarah. But I broke Oscar Britton out of prison. You help me here, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure you never go in a cell again.’

  She was silent for a moment, then nodded.

  He turned to Cormack. ‘Get her set up with some of the Fornax Novices. I need her to produce as many elementals as she possibly can.’

  Cormack frowned. ‘Sir, some of them may balk at working with a Probe.’

  ‘Then unbalk them,’ Harlequin said. He turned and headed out.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Downer asked.

  ‘To get more help. Cormack will brief you up on the details, just get me as many elementals in the fight as you possibly can.’

  The NYPD will have to wait. He raced outside and launched himself skyward, Binding storm clouds around him, ensuring he had a ready supply of lightning to stave off any rocs that tried to intercept.

  He put on speed, looking over his shoulder to see that Cormack had put a Kiowa aloft to escort him. There was a large cloud of rocs and wyverns circling the ruins of the Trump Building, but none seemed willing to risk tangling with Harlequin and his magic.

  He kicked off, flying up Broadway, gaining altitude to get a better view of the barricade where the avenue ran into Houston Street. The fighting was thick there. Soldiers and police poured fire down the shattered street as goblins showed themselves, shouting and hurling javelins. A giant had pushed an old backhoe out into the road, and some of the creatures were using it as cover, slowly inching it forward, trying to get within bow range.

  Here and there, a goblin sorcerer would add a burst of lightning or a flame strike to the mix, darting back into the buildings for cover. Harlequin could spot forward observers in the buildings to either side of the barricades, and the dull whistle and thump of mortar fire being called in wherever the sorcerers showed themselves. The goblins still adhered to their ridiculous custom of painting their sorcerers completely white, making them easy targets for snipers.

  The Gahe worried him. Their short teleporting moved them to the barricade’s edge in an instant, overturning cars to crush the defenders or snatching them from their cover and shredding them before their comrades’ eyes. A few SOC LE support officers and the newly arrived Novices responded with bursts of Aeromantic lightning or ice storms, and here and there a Terramancer forced the earth beneath the cracked asphalt to rise, dragging the creatures down.

  The defenders looked exhausted. The Novices were white-faced with terror. The Gahe ignored the bullets, taking one or two cops or soldiers with each sortie, until the magic drove them off.

  There wasn’t enough magic. If they kept this up, the barricades would give, and the enemy would break through into the rest of the city and everything beyond.

  Once over the barricades, the city became oddly silent and calm. The streets were parking lots of vehicles attempting to escape, people filling the spaces around them. Many of them were moving south to get a better view of the fighting. Huge knots of media stood just to the north of each barricade, held back by lines of police desperately needed in the fight. Harlequin could make out groups of people carrying signs, chanting for reasons he could only guess. South of the barricades, flames, screaming, blood, and ash. North of them, it looked like a party.

  Harlequin heard a low buzz and looked up to see a small blue helicopter sweeping past him. He could make out a woman seated in the open cabin, her feet on the skid, aiming a video camera at the chaos below.

  Harlequin veered to intercept her. ‘Get the hell down!’ he shouted. ‘No-fly zone!’

  The helo ignored him, continuing south into the fighting. A group of three rocs spotted it and began winging their way toward it. Harlequin cursed and spun, extending his arm and unleashing a torrent of lightning that set one of the giant birds on fire. The other two banked and dove, sweeping underneath him. The escort Kiowa followed suit. Harlequin radioed to the pilot. ‘Keep them off the civilians! I can make my own way from here!’

  This was at least the tenth civilian news helo that had violated the Breach Zone’s airspace. Harlequin would have to rely on the Kiowa to do for those rocs. His own mission was far too pressing. He had to get help for those barricades.

  He veered east over Grand Central Station, and moved toward a collection of tall silver buildings abutting the East River. He gained altitude, slowing as he approached the rooftop helipad.

  It was ringed by flags from over a hundred nations, bright yellow letters painted in the landing circle: UN. The giant building was already under heavy guard, and Harlequin could see gun emplacem
ents and Humvees surrounding the ground-level entrances.

  Up here was no different. Men were already streaming out onto the roof, leveling guns at him, waving their arms. He radioed his intent to land on an open channel, and they calmed, stepping back as his boots touched down on the helipad.

  His time on television paid dividends yet again. Recognition was flaring in the eyes of the security guards as they approached him, lowering their weapons. He identified himself anyway. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Thorsson, Supernatural Operations Corps. Breach Zone Incident Commander. I need to speak to Ambassador Hallert right away.’

  Interlude Three

  New Game, New Rules

  I’ve served my country faithfully since I was nine years old. I hit puberty in Ladakh, graduated college via correspondence course in Tawang. I have never kissed a boy. I have never been to a ball game. I have long since forgotten my parents’ faces. General Gatanas came out here on a tour once, met me personally, told me how grateful the country is for what I do, how many people sleep safe because of me. But, in the end, there’s only this: I killed my brother when I Manifested. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I have paid and paid and paid, and it just isn’t enough.

  – Suicide note found on the pillow of Captain Heatwave

  Undisclosed location

  Six Years Earlier

  Grace’s office was the archetype of the New York corporate landscape. Floor-to-ceiling windows left Harlequin feeling like he was floating in midair.

  Crucible had been unable to wipe the grin off his face since it turned out the woman hitting on Harlequin was also the person they were there to meet. Harlequin still felt his cheeks burn at how easily he’d been taken, the sensation worsened by the fact that it hadn’t diminished his attraction to her in the slightest.

  The long meeting table was the quality version of what they used in the Pentagon, real wood instead of cheap plastic laminate. The sand-colored surface reflected the light streaming in from outside, bathing the room in a gentle glow that Harlequin was sure was by design. There was true wealth on display here, the kind that showed itself in a deliberate avoidance of ostentatious display. The room was simple, almost bare, but the little that was in it was perfect. The company logo was emblazoned tastefully on the table’s corner: a smaller, stylized Scylla beside a Charybdis, a broad blue arrow pointing the safe passage between. Narrow black letters read, CHANNEL CORP beneath it.