by J. L. Lyon
Grace helped her to her feet, and the two of them scrambled wordlessly to repack everything they had taken from Barley’s bags. In the rush Liz noticed that Grace had already doused the fire, covering it with an old pot to hide the smoke. She wondered, not for the first time, how instinctual such actions were for someone used to staying hidden out here.
“I see you’re walking again,” Liz whispered as they tiptoed back out to the open area.
“We may be running soon,” Grace replied dryly. “We can’t let them get ahead of us on the road.”
A shadow played over the walls, and Liz fell immediately into a crouch, reaching for her Gladius. Grace knelt beside her, but shook her head, “There are fifty of them and two of us. We can’t fight them.”
Liz remained still until the shadow passed, and then made her way to the nearest window, peering out at the nightmare that had descended upon them.
They moved in battle formation, eyes so wide that she could see the whites of them even from several yards away. They were alert in a way that only soldiers in enemy territory could be, anxious for battle and yet wary of it at the same time. Some walked with their hands over their weapons while others struck camp for the night: meager tents, from what she could see. Functional but light for a force that wanted to move quickly across the Wilderness.
“Where was your group?” she asked. “The ones you sent north?”
“Somewhere between Montreal and Alexandria,” Grace answered. “If what Grantoro said is true, they have traveled a long way in a very short period of time.”
Though the force was smaller, she marveled at the achievement. Having become accustomed to moving large forces across Wilderness terrain in the last year, she understood just what a feat it was. The Persians had to have extraordinary strength and discipline to make it this far inland so quickly. But though the speed seemed almost inhuman, she could believe it of these men. They had been forged in the fires of suffering…hard warriors who knew more of privation than probably anyone on this continent. Few even bothered to carry firearms, and that spoke volumes about their skill with the scimitars at their sides.
From among them she distinguished two groups: some dressed in a strange gold armor that only covered them in vital areas, leaving parts of the skin bare. Others wore a kind of black body armor that covered them completely from head to toe.
The student in her burst with a thousand questions, overcome with wonder at this piece of history that the rest of the world believed lost. But the soldier in her was afraid…intensely, unbelievably terrified. These were the hands that brought down the Old World. These were warriors from a different time, perhaps the best in the history of the world.
And the stories of their brutality preceded them.
Her heart raced as another patrol passed the building where she and Grace hid, inspecting it as though they might use it to set up a part of the camp. She looked over at Barley, suddenly aware that the slightest knicker could give them away, but the horse remained as still as they were—almost as though he could sense the direness of their situation. The men moved on, and Liz breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.
The Persians preferred a position deeper into the small town in the wider spaces, where they could set up buffer zones in the event of an attack.
“We should go as soon as they are clear,” Grace whispered in her ear. The sound of it seemed too loud, and Liz fought the urge to quiet her. “If they destroyed the force of Silent Thunder that Crenshaw sent north, they may be tracking the rest of us across the Wilderness. We need to beat them to the Corridor and warn the others.”
A sinking sense of dread spread through Liz’s chest. The smartest play was to remain hidden until the Persians moved on. From this distance it was unlikely they would even hear Barley snort. But if they emerged out into the open—even in the dark—they risked being caught, and capture by Persians was not quite the end she had in mind.
“If they see us they will pursue, capture, and probably kill us,” Liz said. “Barley will only help if we’re far enough away when they realize we’re here, being as he’s not very fast.” She shot another look back at him. “No offense.”
He neighed quietly in response.
“We have to take that chance,” Grace said. “If they get ahead of us, we may only postpone the inevitable. Plus, they are headed straight for Silent Thunder. They must be warned.”
“You don’t know that,” Liz said. “Maybe your men in the north just got in their way. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“Silent Thunder forced the Persian Empire into a ground war with the United States, neutralizing more than three-quarters of their nuclear arsenal. Had it not been for that, all of this would be nuclear wasteland and perhaps they would have completed their conquest.”
“Or the entire world would be a wasteland, as Napoleon Alexander made Persia when he took absolute control of the cities. Seems like if they were after revenge, he would be the source.”
“Alexander was once of Silent Thunder,” Grace said. “And though he betrayed us and all he once stood for, the Persians might not see a difference. They will destroy us, and then turn their attention to him.”
Grace turned to stare at her, no doubt expecting shock. Alexander’s relationship to Silent Thunder was a closely guarded secret, but Liz had learned many things that had once been hidden from her while serving as Chief of Command. Sullivan had told her everything about the MWR, from his history in the Old World to his time with Silent Thunder, and then finally his transformation into the man who would conquer the world. The emperor had wanted to demonstrate that Alexander was a tyrant driven by his emotions and his personal vendettas. That he was weak, and unfit to rule.
But really Sullivan had been trying to justify his own grab for power, to distract himself and her from the reality that he was becoming more and more like the MWR every day. His actions at Rio proved that. If Napoleon Alexander was the number 1 mass murderer in the history of the world, Sullivan was a close second.
All in the name of peace, of course.
“I know about the MWR’s history,” she said dismissively. “Still, it doesn’t seem logical. Why come halfway around the world and trek across the Wilderness just to settle a decades-old grudge? Both Silent Thunder and the Persians have bigger problems now than one another.”
“Have you ever read much about the Persian Resurgence?”
Liz paused, suddenly at a loss for words. She had done extensive reading on the Persians during her officer training, and she had checked what she’d learned against other sources after becoming Chief of Command. The Resurgence was one of the few historical moments not glossed over or changed by Napoleon Alexander’s revisionist historians. Liz suspected it was too momentous and widely known for the historians to change even the most minute details—or perhaps Alexander held it in special regard, given his participation. In any case, even thinking about the Resurgence made her shudder.
It had started out honorably enough. Groups of nations impoverished by the advent of Solithium technology banded together to survive, as their largest export became obsolete. They had even tried to gain access to Solithium formulas themselves, but fears that they might weaponize the chemical led the Western nations to withhold it from them. Some historians theorized that giving them Solithium might have prevented what followed, but now the world would never know.
The alliance turned into a military coup, led by a young radical named Ahmed al-Zarif, and the countries were combined into the reconstituted Persian Empire. From there it was only a few small steps toward war, and they struck at their unprepared neighbors with a brutality not seen in centuries. The empire had been forged in anger and rage, and the warriors took out their vengeance on those who had kept them in suffering. Fear of them spread across the globe like a wildfire, fear that still lived in the hearts of those who spoke of them even today.
But Liz had to acknowledge that all her readings were from men outside the Persian Empire. And there are two sides
to every story.
“Study of Persian warfare is a key part of Great Army officer training,” she replied. “They were the most organized, disciplined, and effective warriors in the history of the world. Until Spectral-adepts, of course.”
“They were also merciless murderers who always left a trail of blood in their wake…innocent and soldier alike,” Grace said with distaste. “I’m sure Napoleon Alexander found something of value in that, as well.”
Liz didn’t argue. As terrible as what the Persians had done in those early years was, it was all out of rage. Eventually, rage fades. Anger is quelled. But Alexander created soldiers that were brutal simply for brutality’s sake. There was no emotion in it. Only obedience. An average Great Army soldier was ten times the villain of the most brutal Persian.
Still, that didn’t mean she cared to meet one.
“They’ve gone far enough that I think we can get back to the road,” Grace said. “Once there, we make a break for it. Barley may not be fast, but he can outrun any man on foot.”
By now Liz knew better than to argue with Grace once she had set her mind to something. The woman was stubborn, and if there was any chance of valiance, any opportunity for honor, Grace Sawyer would not pass it up. It was a quality for which Liz felt both admiration and disdain. Admiration, for the sentiment. Disdain, for the practicality. War is about doing what is necessary, which does not always equal what is honorable. Winners took risks, yes, but only when it was calculated into the entire picture of the war. Grace Sawyer would take a risk just because it was the right thing to do.
One day the right thing would get them both killed. She just hoped it was not today.
“I saw a back door,” Liz said. “Might be a tight fit for Barley, but the building will shield us from view a good while longer.”
Grace nodded, and Liz led the way around the counter through an area that had once been a kitchen. She paused periodically to look back at Grace, who pulled Barley along slowly. There were a few tight corners where one wrong movement might have led to the sound of crashing metal, but thankfully they made it to the back door with no problems. She twisted the knob and gave it a shove. It wouldn’t open. She pushed against it harder; still nothing.
“The overgrowth was pretty bad on this side,” Grace said. “I saw it when we came in. We’ll have to use a Gladius.”
“They might hear!”
“Then we have to go back, sneak out the front.”
Liz frowned. There was no way that was happening. She unclipped Ignis from her belt, surprised with how foreign it felt in her hand. How long had it been now since she had used it? Days? A week? It seemed like an eternity out here in the Wilderness.
She held it out in front of her and slid her thumb over the pad in an ‘L’ shaped pattern. The blade shot out the end with a loud, echoing shing, and Liz held her breath. Then on its heels, the diamond armor ignited and filled the building with the sound of its hum. Liz had always thought of it as a gentle sound, but here in this enclosed space it might as well have been thunder.
She worked fast, plunging the blade into the crack of the door and cutting an outline around the frame. Then she deactivated the weapon and froze, listening. Only after several moments of silence did she finally breathe again.
A soldier does not know fear, Liz’s mind intoned. A soldier...oh, shut up! She didn’t have time for her childhood tropes. There was an army of Persians at her heels, and only one thing mattered now: escape.
She pushed open the door and it pulled free of the overgrowth she had been unable to cut, bathing them in the cool night air. She poked her head out first, cautiously watching right, left, and forward, and then mustered up the courage to go outside. She held Ignis tightly at her side, despite what little good it would do her. If even half of what she knew about the Persians was true, she was no match for them with a sword.
Suddenly a clop, clop, clop filled her ears, and every part of her cringed. She looked back to see Grace, face white, looking at Barley with an expression of pure horror. The animal couldn’t move on concrete without making a racket.
“We don’t have any choice,” Grace whispered. “We have to get on now and make a break for it. If we get far enough ahead, they’ll never catch us. And once we reach Silent Thunder, we will need that time to prepare to meet them in the open field.”
Liz’s eyes went wide, “You can’t be serious. You don’t plan to fight them?”
“They have less than a hundred men. The Silent Thunder 2nd battalion has almost two hundred.”
“But...they’re Persians.”
“They came for blood, and they will get it,” Grace said darkly. “But they will not get the end they have in mind.” She climbed up on Barley’s back and offered Liz her hand. “Still want to come with me? You might have a chance to escape while I draw their attention.”
“And go where?” Liz asked. “Back to the lions?”
“You’re better equipped to survive out here now,” she replied. “In time you could find a nomadic group, fall in with them. Not the life you are accustomed to, but a life all the same.”
Liz turned to look at the trees. They were foreboding in the dark, but there was promise there as well. I wouldn’t have to fight anymore. I wouldn’t have to kill. I could be whoever I wanted to be. And yet... “Is that what you want me to do?” she asked, suppressing the lump in her throat.
Grace hesitated, then smiled as though surprised by her own answer, “Honestly, no. I want you to come with me. I wouldn’t have said it just a few days ago, but I don’t think we’re all that different, you and I. Plus, you’re handy in a fight. So? What’ll it be?”
Melodramatic though it was, Liz sensed the significance of the moment. Her life could go in two completely different directions based on the choice she made in the next three seconds. She had experienced several of those moments in her life, moments she now looked back on wondering if she had made the right choice: when Sullivan had recruited her, when she had chosen not to kill 301, when she left the Imperial Conglomerate...and now this.
But one thing tipped the scale. Out there in the Wilderness, she might be safe, but she would also be alone. And she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
She took Grace’s hand and used it to pull herself up onto Barley’s back, settling in behind the rebel commander on the saddle. She clipped Ignis back in place and drew the pistol instead. There was a good chance she would need it in the coming moments.
Grace turned to look at her, and Liz appreciated the satisfaction in the woman’s eyes. Something had changed between them. It was more than simple necessity that bound them to one another. This was not about survival, not anymore. It was about friendship.
“You ready?” Grace asked.
Liz nodded, and at her motion Grace kicked Barley into gear. The sounds of his hooves—mere drops of rain in a forest of sound just moments before—now rose like a peal of thunder as they emerged around the side of the building and made a break for the road.
She could almost feel the change in the air as the Persians became aware of them. In the armies she had been in or commanded there would have been a moment of confusion, and by the time the confusion passed they would already be gone. Not so with the Persians. Their reaction was instant, like a bolt of lightning setting fire to the wind. Their cries rang out, terrifying in their strange language, and they leapt into action. Liz looked back long enough to see that they weren’t chasing directly after them. They had already anticipated that the road was their goal, and were getting in position to cut them off. With the curve in the road that Barley would have to follow, they just might succeed.
“Doesn’t look like we’re going to get away clean,” Liz spoke into Grace’s ear, “Better get ready to shoot our way through.”
-X-
The black-clad warrior lifted his head at the commotion, instantly forgetting the task of raising his tent, and stood with one hand on the Spectral Gladius at his side. The tension in the air was palpable, a
s his companions lived in constant anticipation of an ambush. This was enemy territory, and they were uncomfortable here...afraid, even.
But they had learned to ignore fear, to channel it into fuel that could be burned for battle. This gave them an edge, one that alarmed him. Those that acted too quickly could sometimes come out on the wrong side.
One of the Persians came up to him, the same one who had met the Silent Thunder commander with him just days before. He was calm and collected on the outside, but just as tense as the others within. To him, this Wilderness was a predator just waiting for the chance to swallow them all.
“What is it?” The black-clad warrior asked.
“Riders,” his companion replied, words thick with a Persian accent. “Two of them. They must have been here before us, otherwise our scouts would have spotted them.”
At that moment the black-clad warrior caught sight of them some distance away, a dark silhouette fleeing into the night. He couldn’t be certain at this distance, but he thought he saw the shimmer of long blonde hair flowing out behind the second rider.
“One of the rear scouts just reported in,” the Persian said, pressing a finger to his ear. “He believes that one of the riders fits the description of Commander Grace Sawyer.”
The black-clad warrior froze, eyes still trained on the horse and its burdens, “Are you sure?”
“That is what he says. What would you like to do?”
The man hesitated for a moment, obviously torn between competing desires. Then, “Pull your men back. Tell them to let the riders pass.”
“Are you certain?” the Persian asked, barely able to contain his shock. “This is what we came for, and you want to just let it slip through our fingers?”
“We came for much more than this,” the black-clad warrior replied. “Let them escape, and she will lead us to the rest of Silent Thunder. We have invested too much to let it all go awry because of impatience.”
