by J. L. Lyon
“Yes.”
“If I were in your position I’m not sure I’d make a different call,” Marcus said. “But you could still be dragging us all down into the grave with you.”
“I will take full responsibility for this. The rest of you are following orders, nothing more.”
“Do you really believe the MWR will see it that way?”
Derek stopped walking and faced the man, “I don’t know, Marcus. What I do know is that if we stick to the orders we’ve been given, we’re all dead anyway.”
He continued on, leaving Marcus to contemplate the fact that any choice he made would likely end in death. That is what it means to serve the Mighty World Ruler, he thought. Every day is a dance with death when you work for a madman.
“That was…agreeable,” Gentry said.
“Smokescreen,” Derek replied. “He has something up his sleeve. When the worst storms come, it’s always the worms that survive. Tell your men to be on their guard.”
“They will be, sir. You can be certain of that. Only—”
“Yes? You are my most trusted advisor, Specter General, don’t be afraid to speak now.”
“I just worry at the wisdom of our course. I agree with you; Grace Sawyer in control of an entire city is a threat that must be dealt with. But the situation here on the ground, in the Wilderness, has not changed. Our forces are still about equal in number to Silent Thunder’s. Thus far we have avoided a full-on attack for precisely that reason. It is just as likely to go their way as ours. The only thing that is certain is that it will greatly deplete both forces.”
“So what would you have me do? Just watch as she pulls them in to bolster her new System-trained army? If she gets them into the city the Corridor will be almost impossible to take back.”
“From the outside, yes. But if we join with her rivals in the city, we might be able to tip the scales. All we really need is to remove her from power. The people of Corridor Prime respect the rule of law more than any one person. If we can install a new leader to the Stone Hall, the Corridor will return to the fold.”
“You assume she has a rival in the city with enough power to challenge her,” Derek shook his head. “I can’t take a chance on that assumption. If we can’t get to her, we can still destroy what she loves. Order the attack as soon as contact is made. Take no prisoners.”
- X -
Corridor Prime stretched out before them, a line of jagged squares that spanned the entire horizon, and Davian’s breath caught in his throat. After so long in complete Wilderness it was a shock to see a city again, like some great monstrosity that had risen to conquer the endless sea of wildlife he had grown accustomed to. Just beneath the buildings he could see the flicker of the Corridor’s Solithium fence, barely a mile away now at its closest point to their position. Though it looked small, Davian knew the fence itself was over a hundred feet high. How Crenshaw planned to get past it, he still did not know.
The Corridor was somewhat of an enigma within the World System, and he used that excuse to explain the odd sense of vertigo he felt as he observed its enormity. Most cities stretched the definition of the word in terms of their size, as they were in actuality self-sufficient nations, but they all had a tendency toward a radial growth pattern. There was a center, and the remainder of the city encircled that center.
Not so with the Corridor. It was more of a line…a line that followed the main water arteries from Corridor North on the Great Lakes down to Corridor South on the Gulf. Prime lay in the center and was the largest fortification. North and South were both sizeable themselves, but even more daunting was the fact that every stretch of land between the cities was also populated. You could not cross the Corridor at any point without entering at least a small settlement.
Alexander had planned it that way: a massive wall of technology, water, buildings, and people to protect his east coast cities against land attack. No doubt the Imperial Conglomerate was already looking at it on the map with a sense of dread. At least for now, Davian knew exactly how they felt.
My world lies behind now, he thought. On the other side, even the Wilderness is foreign.
“What’s your plan?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper on the wind. “We can’t stay here like this, out in the open. A group this large this close to the city will be spotted quickly.”
Crenshaw stood next to him on the crest of a hill overlooking the city as their people made their way down to the flat plain—with no place to hide or take shelter between there and the Corridor.
“This area of the city is sparsely populated. Not as sparse as a little further north, just before the outer edge of Prime, but our warriors can get through and secure a path to the other side.”
“What’s stopping us?”
The general sighed, “Once we go through, Grace will not be able to follow. She will be trapped on this side of the wall, alone, unable to reach us.”
Davian appreciated Crenshaw’s faith that Grace still lived, though he no longer shared it. In those first days he had been certain of her survival, but as time drug on and she did not appear, her survival seemed far less likely. Grace was strong, but out there, by herself or perhaps with another woman, hunted by Blaine’s thugs in addition to all the dangers of the Wilderness—he had already seen her die a thousand ways in his mind. But he did not want Crenshaw to know he had given up hope.
“Perhaps we can wait for her a little longer. Send scouts east to see—”
“No. We are still being pursued.”
“The Spectorium has not attacked in days.”
“When a predator has you in his jaws and decides to let you go, he knows something you do not. They are still watching us, waiting for something.”
“Or maybe they just didn’t like the taste,” Davian said. “We’ve dealt them substantial losses, enough to make them reconsider—.”
“Not this predator. Not Derek Blaine. They are still out there. We must cross now, while we have the chance. We will make a safe path and escort our people through. Then you will take our warriors to the other side while I go north to Prime to retrieve the fragment.”
“General, I don’t think now is the best—”
“Lieutenant Commander!” a voice yelled from behind him. Davian had grown familiar with that shout, no matter which man spoke it: the yell of uncertainty and fear. He turned and saw the source of the distress rising in all of those who had not yet crested the hill, and so could still see back the way they had come: the Spectorium.
“Speak ill of the devil, and he shall appear,” he said dryly.
“They wanted us to let our guard down, walk into an indefensible position.”
“We have crossed many plains in the past few days.”
“Yes, but now we are against the wall of the Corridor with nowhere to run,” Crenshaw said. “So they believe.”
Davian turned back toward the Corridor, where Silent Thunder—both civilians and warriors—descended the hill. News of the threat would reach them soon. He needed to have a plan in place before then.
“We will never make it through before they catch us,” he whispered. “That leaves us only one choice. You must take command of the force and lead them to the other side—”
“Davian...”
“I will remain here with a third of our warriors and hold the Spectorium on this hill until you are safely away.”
“If you stay here you will die.”
“And if I don't, we all die,” Davian turned and made eye contact with the general. “You know how this works, Crenshaw. You've seen it play out dozens of times. Sometimes in order to survive, a sacrifice must be made. Send word that I will need fifty volunteers. Make sure they are aware what their service today will mean. Assume command of the rest until they can re-elect Grace's replacement. Continuity of government must be observed.”
“It should be me that stays behind.”
“Only you know how to get through the Corridor. You are our people's best chance for survival. No
w go!”
“Godspeed to you, Davian,” Crenshaw saluted and headed down the hill, barking orders to all the operatives within hearing distance. His words would spur both them and the civilians into action, and with any luck they would survive this day.
But for Davian and the men already forming up to his right and left, survival would not be in the cards. Most had not had the opportunity to hear Crenshaw's order, yet still had come of their own volition. He would not have the problem of finding enough volunteers, but of needing to turn some away.
The Spectorium continued their advance up the hill, and Davian felt his heart race as they emerged from the morning mist. In the past several months he had never seen more than twenty of the Spectorium at a time, even when they had attacked the camp. But now there they all were, arrayed in battle formation. He had seen larger armies, but never such a large opposing force of Spectral-adepts. Like the days of old, when legends like Jonathan Charity and Jacob Sawyer fought the forces who had betrayed them under Napoleon Alexander.
If he was to meet his end, he could think of no better way.
“Gentlemen!” he exclaimed, unclipping his Gladius from his side. “It has been my great honor to serve with you, and it will also be my great honor to die with you. I ask nothing but that you make Derek Blaine pay a high price for each man of Silent Thunder that will fall here today on this ground. Hold the line, to the last man!”
The operatives shouted in exultation, and Davian felt some of his fear ebb away. That was all battle speeches were for, really. Before a fight, fear and doubt warred against the thrill of battle. A good commander knew how to help his solders cover that fear, so that the thrill could take hold.
Another lesson he had learned from Jacob Sawyer.
“Secondary forms!” he yelled. The Spectorium should have learned from their assault on the camp to never attack Silent Thunder when they had the high ground. This slope was not as steep, which meant the tactic would not keep them at bay for long, but it would at least delay and thin their numbers, which was all Davian needed.
The sound of fifty or more Spectral Gladii coming to life filled Davian's ears, followed by the clicks of the transformation to their secondary forms.
“Ready!” he called, “Aim!” Davian lifted his Gladius to eye level and sighted the center of the Spectorium’s line down the barrel of the weapon. His finger tensed, ready to pull the trigger at his own command:
“F—”
Three Halos fell from the sky, the force of their engines nearly blasting Davian off his feet as they prevented themselves from crashing into the grass. His breath caught in his throat. Perhaps this would not be much of a battle after all. He looked back behind them where his people fled across the plain, and saw no less than ten additional Halos—five on each side—closing in.
So this was it. This was how Silent Thunder died. Every man, woman, and child would soon pass from this world, Napoleon Alexander’s ultimate victory won. There was a part of him, in that moment, that wondered if fighting was even worth it. Perhaps it would be simpler, easier, to just lay down his weapon, raise his hands to the sky, and leave this world with peace in his heart.
But even as it crossed his mind, he rejected it. He thought of Grace, probably dead somewhere in the Wilderness. Of Jacob Sawyer with Derek Blaine’s Gladius through his back. Of all the people and all the friends who had died because of the World System, even back to his parents, killed in a Great Army raid so long ago that he could not remember their faces. No, he had never been a man of peace. His had been a life of war, and he would not die a hypocrite.
He pointed his Gladius at the nearest Halo and barked the command, “Shoot them before they can shoot us, men!”
“Wait!” one of the men shouted down the line. “Their turret doors are closed!”
Davian gritted his teeth. It only took a split second for the turret doors on a Halo to open and the guns to start firing. The fact that their guns weren’t out didn’t mean anything…did it? In the seconds of hesitation he took to contemplate this, the three Halos each turned completely around so that their noses faced the advancing Spectorium.
“Spectorium,” a voice exploded from the center Halo’s speakers. “By order of the magistrate of Corridor Prime, you will stand down. If you do not comply I am authorized to use deadly force.”
Davian slowly lowered his Gladius and shook his head, “What the hell is going on?”
- X -
“What the hell is going on?” Specter General Marcus demanded, pushing his way through the halted lines of the Spectorium. The three Halos waited several yards up the hill, like birds of prey waiting to dive.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Derek retorted. “This is her doing. Prepare to engage on my mark.”
“What?” Marcus breathed.
“Sir,” Gentry stepped in front of Derek and whispered harshly. “I know you want to end this with her, but you cannot give the order to fire on our own men! They are following the orders of their magistrate—”
“Grace Sawyer is the magistrate of Corridor Prime!” Derek exclaimed.
“That doesn’t matter,” Gentry went on. “If you give that order some of these men might not follow it. And even if they do, we are now hopelessly outnumbered. We cannot win this, Grand Admiral. We must retreat to fight another day.”
Derek gritted his teeth. It seemed that was becoming their mantra. Every time he almost had her, she slipped through his fingers. But this...this was something else entirely. When he read that piece of paper it alarmed him, but until now he hadn't appreciated the scope of this crisis. As magistrate Sawyer now commanded not just her own warriors, but the System-trained Great Army and all its vessels: Halos, ships, transport vehicles, heavy weaponry—everything Corridor Prime had on hand. And given that it was designed as a fortress, he imagined that included quite a bit.
“Sir,” Gentry whispered desperately. “You must give the order to stand down.”
“I will not run from her.”
“We will find another way,” he said. “A better way.”
Derek tore his eyes from the Halos and the Silent Thunder warriors waiting on the hill and sighed. Some things were more important than revenge. “Very well. Pass the order to stand down. Withdraw our forces to the south until we can form a new plan of action.”
Gentry's shoulders relaxed, and he waved to his captains. The lines began to disperse, but Derek remained rooted in place, loathe to leave. Gentry waited with him patiently for several moments, until it was just the two of them in the shadow of the Halos.
“We should go, sir.”
Derek nodded and turned to follow the men. “You know the names of all the generals in the Corridor, Specter General. I will need to speak with each of them. The time has come to choose a side.”
- X -
Crenshaw pushed his way through to the front line where he found Davian, watching the Halos land on the hillside. They had not yet deactivated their weapons, though it didn’t appear they had any intentions of using them, either. He hunched down in an attempt to see beyond the vessels. The Spectorium had gone.
“Whoever this is saved us,” Crenshaw said. “The only question is why.”
“Sent by the magistrate of Corridor Prime, so they said,” Davian said. “As for the why, I guess we are about to find out.”
The side door of the middle Halo slid open and a robed figure jumped down onto the grass. More figures followed after her in Great Army uniforms. This must be the delegation from the city. Excited whispers rose up from all around him, and he noticed Davian’s face had gone white. He looked again at the entourage, and this time saw past the uniform the woman wore and studied her face.
“She’s alive,” Davian said. “She made it after all.” He stepped out of the line, heedless of the Great Army soldiers, and nearly broke into a run. The Great Army soldiers tensed at his approach, but Grace waved them off.
They obeyed.
Davian dropped his Spectral Gladius and caught Gr
ace up in a joyful embrace, the two of them laughing like giddy children. Cheers broke out among the warriors at the sight of their commander’s return, and more started to leave the line to go greet her.
“Halt!” Crenshaw’s command stayed their movement. “Maintain the line. Do not put down your weapons.”
Davian’s attention snapped back to Crenshaw, and then to the Great Army soldiers who flanked Grace and himself. Crenshaw watched the realization dawn on him, that in his joy at her return he ignored all the warning signs. She was with the Great Army, wearing a World System uniform. So either she was here under duress, or worse—she was not of sound mind.
He cautiously made his way down the hill to join them, Spectral Gladius still alive at his side. She looked at him approvingly, exuding that confident air he had missed so much. He hadn’t even realized just how much her death would have destroyed him until this moment, reunited with her again. She certainly didn’t appear brainwashed.
“What’s the matter, General?” she asked. “Not happy to see me?”
“I have never been happier to see someone alive in my entire life,” he breathed. “But you have been missing for several days. Now you reappear with the Great Army at your back and a World System uniform, apparently with the ear of the magistrate of the city. What are we to think?”
“I don’t have the ear of the magistrate, Crenshaw,” Grace said. “I am the magistrate.”
Crenshaw shook his head, “You…how?”
“Napoleon Alexander himself ordered me branded,” she pulled back her sleeve to reveal the tattoo. “And along with it he gave me a Systemic designation. When I entered the city, it had no magistrate. The central computer selected me, and here we are. Prime is mine, Crenshaw. Now I need Silent Thunder to help me hold it.”
“You want us to fight…alongside the Great Army?” Davian asked.
“I want you to fight for the future,” she replied. “I know this will be hard for you to accept. I expect others will take it harder. But a new path has opened to us, one we did not expect, and it is the best path we have had since fleeing Alexandria. I need you to trust me, now. I can get our people to safety. I can provide for them, feed them, clothe them. I can build the foundation for the world we have always dreamed of.
