by J. L. Lyon
The Halo righted once again, and Davian went on, “I don't have to tell you how important this mission is...that the lives of all our comrades, your families, and more rest on what will happen in the next few minutes. If we must surrender our lives today, we do so knowing that it is not in vain. Do not hesitate, and give the enemy no quarter, for you will receive none.”
At that moment a loud burst sounded from behind them and the Halo lurched, propelled forward by the shockwave. This time the turbulence did not abate.
“Pilot!” Davian yelled. “Status report!”
“We lost one, sir!” came the reply. “And the shrapnel damaged the posterior engines. I have to put us down.”
Lost one, Davian grimaced. There were six to ten men on that Halo.
The nose of the vessel dipped as the pilot angled toward the ground, and Davian braced for impact.
- X -
Just over twenty Silent Thunder operatives joined Grace in the alley. Her eyes shifted quickly from face to face, searching for the one she most longed to see. Crenshaw had taken command of the second vanguard after the split, and with each face she studied it became less and less likely he had survived.
“Commander?” an operative, young and bloody, stepped forward to get her attention.
She gave it to him, knowing it was the least she could do after the sacrifice he was about to make—had perhaps already made, by the look of him.
“I was with the general’s column,” the operative said.
Her heart hit the ground. The operative would not have approached her in that tone if all was well. Perhaps he had seen the general fall and knew how he had died.
She cleared her throat and attempted to mask her emotions, “What happened?”
“It was during the final charge, right before the withdraw order,” the operative said. “Photon exploded right beside us.” He motioned to his wounds. “I got the worst of it, luckily, but I had carry the general back—”
“Carry him back?” Grace demanded. “You mean he’s alive?”
“Yes, Commander. He sent me to find you. We had to set him down over here. Please, follow me.”
Grace let out a long breath, and had she been in a less focused state of mind she might have broken down in tears of relief. She followed the operative away from the rest of the survivors to a spot closer to the other end of the alley, where she saw a figure huddled on the ground with his back against the building. Unable to contain herself any longer, she sprinted ahead of the operative and knelt by Crenshaw’s side.
He stirred at her touch, and to her relief, smiled. She turned back to the operative, “Where was he hit?”
“You can talk to me, Grace,” Crenshaw said. “I’m not dead...not yet. Help me up.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a great—”
“Dying flat on my back is not quite the exit I had in mind,” Crenshaw interrupted. “I was several feet further from the blast than Private Ford here.”
She grinned, “You’re not quite as young as you used to be.”
“Well keeping me down here isn’t going to make me any younger,” he held out his hand to her. She hesitated, until she realized how foolish it was to argue with someone just as stubborn as her. Private Ford rushed over to take Crenshaw’s other hand, and together they pulled him back to his feet.
The general stumbled and clutched his side, gasping for breath. Grace tried to help keep him steady, but he waved her off, “It’s alright. I can do this.”
“Where are you hurt?” It was too dark for her to see anything clearly, but she had not felt any blood when helping him up.
“Sprained ankle, bruised ribs...couple cracked, maybe,” he chuckled and grabbed his side again. “Knocked the wind out of me, but I can push through long enough for one more fight. I did lose my Gladius out there...”
“Oh, right,” Ford said, fumbling at his side. “This was lying right by you, so I picked it up before we fled.”
Crenshaw took the Gladius from him, “Not mine, but it will have to do. I see you didn’t escape unscathed yourself.” He touched the slash on her cheek and she recoiled as pain flared.
“Probably looks worse than it is,” she said. “I was lucky. Had I not been hit, I would have been right in the middle of those first photons.”
Crenshaw nodded. No doubt he had seen how many men died in those few seconds as he led the second vanguard to save those he could. “How many survivors?”
“Just over twenty,” Grace replied.
“Well,” Crenshaw said. “I’ve made it out of worse scrapes before.”
“Really, sir?” Ford asked.
Crenshaw shrugged, “Close, anyway. I was with Jonathan Charity when he led the charge on the first Specter Spire.”
Grace saw Ford’s eyes go wide. Even now, participating in a great battle of his own, mention of those legendary moments still made him look like an excited little boy. Sometimes Grace forgot what a monolith Crenshaw was to the other officers.
“What do you think he would do, if he were here?” Grace asked.
“The very same thing you’re about to do, if I know you at all.”
Grace looked back toward the mouth of the alley, then up at the buildings that surrounded them. They were in the downtown quarter, surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers. That would not give the Spectorium the same advantage they had enjoyed in the city square. A plan began to form in her mind, and adrenaline began pumping through her veins to cover the fatigue. Just a little longer.
Grand Admiral Blaine would probably expect her to stay in the alley and fortify their position, and perhaps that would be the smart course. They would hold them for a while, though Blaine’s superior numbers would eventually overwhelm them.
But that was not the plan she had in mind, for she was no ordinary battle commander. She would not let her legacy die out in a whisper. It would be a shout, short but piercing, and it would reverberate throughout the world long after she had left it.
- X -
Derek stepped up to the head of the column at the edge of the city square and set his gaze on the position where his Specter Captain had pointed, “That’s the alley there, sir. We saw several turn down that street.” Derek sighed as he studied the cross street. Ordinary, was the first word that came to mind. How many countless feet had trampled that very spot on their way to mundane business in the city square over the years? In fact, this part of the city probably dated back to the Old World in parts.
Mundane to all of them, now to become the site of a decisive battle. Such was war.
“We don’t know exactly how many of them are in there, Grand Admiral,” Gentry said. “If they’re smart they will use the cover of the buildings against us, fortify the alley so we can only get at them a few men at a time. If we go in it will cost many lives. But if we wait for the Halo and tell it to fire from above—”
“Fire from above?” Derek asked. “Seems a bit like cheating.”
“There is no such thing as cheating in war, sir,” Gentry replied.
“All’s fair,” Derek frowned. He still held on to the hope that he might be the one to kill Grace Sawyer. But he couldn’t risk their success on that desire. For all he knew, she could already be dead. He would have to accept defeating her men in battle as proper recompense. “Very well. Instruct them to—”
“BLAINE!”
Derek went rigid at the sound of the shout, and his eyes shot back to the street ahead. A lone figure stood in the space right next to the alley, watching him, her long dark hair flowing in the wind behind her.
Grace Sawyer.
He stepped forward, all the rage and hatred of the previous year returning with crushing force. That she still drew breath when 301's ashes lay scattered in some unmarked grave in Alexandria was an offense of the highest order, one that only he could set right. He had not been willing to risk everything on the chance that he might gain his vengeance, but on the certainty—that was another matter.
“Give the order to
form up and prepare to charge.”
“Sir?” Gentry asked. “But—”
“Give the order, Gentry,” Derek repeated. “And do not make me ask again.”
Gentry tilted his head to give the order into his comm, then straightened, “Done, sir.” The subtle shifts in the lines confirmed for Derek that his forces were ready.
“They are spent, Specter General,” Derek said, his voice barely a whisper next to the sound of his blood pumping in eager anticipation. “They are broken. All that is left is to shatter the pieces that remain. Let’s end this.”
The Spectorium advanced at a single motion of Derek’s hand, and the thunder of their boots on the ground sent a thrill straight through his bones. This was what he lived for: the excitement of battle, from that anxious flutter of fear to the survival instincts that drew upon every ounce of his skill. The earth shook beneath them as they advanced, and he wondered how Grace must feel knowing her cause was lost…that all of this would end with her lying dead on the cold winter ground.
His breath was just visible ahead of him, a ghost that appeared for a moment and then vanished on the wind. The light of the overcast day diminished even further in the shadow of the buildings, turning the men around him into shadows with no features—machines of death that moved at his will. Some would die, it was true, but that was the cost of victory. That was what it meant to be a soldier. He took pride in the fact that he raced alongside them, in every bit as much danger, staring down the very same uncertain future.
And yet still, Grace Sawyer stood alone.
The first photon hit off to his right, and several men went down. Hesitation spread like a ripple through the formation as another photon hit, and Derek turned to look up. Somehow they had gotten a man up on the building to the left, and he was the source of the fire.
“Press onward!” he urged. “Gentry, shooter on the roof. Order squad five to return fire.” The return fire began almost immediately while the rest of his men continued onward, racing down the street toward Grace Sawyer with every ounce of speed. The sooner we arrive, the less damage they can do. Another photon exploded, this one to his left and close enough that he felt the spray of asphalt on his cheek. Then yet another hit somewhere farther down the line—he could hear the screams of the dying.
Shadows emerged from the alley—five by Derek’s count, and formed up behind Sawyer. Five men? Derek thought. Six, including that man on the roof? Could that really be all that was left?
Thoughts of victory turned quickly to ones of alarm. He had missed something that his instincts had already realized, and it lay in the first rule of the battlefield: know your surroundings. Sawyer had drawn them into a street bordered on both sides by tall buildings, boxing them in where their numbers would not be as meaningful. There were windows on the ground level to the left that he had not even noticed before. Surely she wouldn’t, he thought. That would be the most gutsy move I’ve ever—
And then, in an instant, he knew that she would. But by then it was already too late.
Solithium photons shot out of the windows—at least ten at once—and completely obliterated the left flank. A shockwave of surprise and fear shot through the remainder of Derek’s army, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of it as well. The entire column stopped, and in the confusion the Specters didn’t know whether to face forward to Grace Sawyer or left to the shooters.
But instead of more photons, he heard the rebels roar a cry of war—the very same cry he had heard that night, more than a year ago, when the Phantom Army charged the Communications Tower. Then they emerged from within the building, diamond armor blazing, and cut into the disparate lines of the Spectorium. Derek turned his eyes back toward Sawyer, where more rebels were now charging, and smiled. Despite the fact that they were his enemy, he respected their courage.
“We have a real battle now, Gentry. Let’s give the rebels the deaths they deserve.”
- X -
Grace blocked a blow aimed at her thigh and exchanged several more hits with the attacker before he lost his grip on his blade. She might have knocked him out and let him live, but he drew his gun and left her no choice but to kill him. Then she stepped over his body and pushed deeper into the fray.
The Spectorium had pulled together for their charge, likely to prevent another hook formation attack, but it had served Silent Thunder’s purpose. Her men had come at the force on two sides, wedging them against the wall of the opposite building, and at first the enemy formation made it nearly impossible for them to take advantage of their superior numbers.
But as she watched, she saw that their advantage had begun to change. The enemy forces spread out and engaged Silent Thunder operatives two and even three on one, and the battle lines blurred together. All they could do now was take out as many Specters as they could. She started to move right to help an operative as he fended off three men at once, but froze.
There, barely twenty yards from her, was Derek Blaine.
42
DAVIAN STUMBLED OUT OF the Halo and onto his hands and knees, scraping his exposed skin on the asphalt of the road. Pain ignited in his leg and up the left side of his torso where he had gotten the worst part of the crash. A piece of shrapnel protruded from his upper left thigh, and he groaned like a wounded animal as he took hold of it and ripped it out.
The air vibrated with an unnatural hum, and he raised his head to see the pylon standing before him. The crash had brought him within two hundred yards of the thing—not that it mattered now that he could barely walk.
Behind him the Halo smoked but still remained largely intact. So where were his men? He rose with difficulty and limped back toward the vessel. It was empty—not even the body of the pilot was inside.
Explosions continued to sound from far away, and he wondered what was happening in the city. Were all his people dead? Were Grace and Crenshaw?
The scream of a missile caught Davian’s attention, and he rushed to the cockpit of the vessel to see its origin. Someone within the tower—likely one of Blaine’s Specters—shot the missile down before it could strike the pylon, and a Halo streaked into view. It opened fire with its guns, weaving around the Specters’ attempts to shoot it down.
Davian was so caught up in watching the battle in the sky that he almost missed the party of men as they left the cover of a building and rushed toward the pylon. He cracked a smile. Well done, men. The Halo that had survived their flight here was serving as a distraction so that the men from his vessel could infiltrate and blow the pylon. After checking to make sure he was still alive, they had made the decision to press onward without him.
Not how he had planned to spend the battle, but the right call nonetheless.
The men successfully entered the pylon as the ruse succeeded, though the Halo continued its maneuvers to keep the Specters busy. It wouldn’t be long before that wall came down. There was nothing for him to do but wait.
He sat down in the pilot’s chair and turned his attention to his leg, still soaking his uniform with blood, and pressed a hand against the wound. There was a med kit in the cabin that he really should use to stitch himself up, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the chair. If he couldn’t be a part of the battle to bring down that pylon, he would at least be there to watch it happen.
Davian tilted his head back against the headrest. So tired. This wound will probably take me out of commission for days, and that’s just the damage I can see. His side still throbbed with dull pain, sharper every time he twisted a certain way.
His thoughts turned naturally to Liz, to the warmth of her lying next to him and the pleasant lightness in his chest whenever she was around. She was the strongest woman he had ever known. Tenacious. Independent. Wild. Beautiful. She had a way of looking at him that warned him she was not to be trifled with, and yet there was a softness beneath it: a gentle person, who might just allow him to love her.
Where was she now? He had searched for her before leaving the city for war, hoping for a final g
oodbye. But she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she, too, was fighting alongside Grace in the city…which meant she, too, would probably die.
“Davian…” he heard her voice whisper. “Davian…” He was drifting off, and he knew it, whether from blood loss or fatigue or some other reason, he couldn’t stay focused. All he could—
“Davian, are you there?”
He sat up suddenly. He wasn’t drifting off. That was Liz’s voice, coming through the comm in his ear. “Liz?” he replied.
“Thank God,” she said. “I haven’t been able to reach anyone. What is happening in the city?”
“The Spectorium,” Davian answered. “They were in the downtown quarter, waiting for the army to leave. Have to bring down the wall, get the army back in to help…”
“You sound breathless, Davian,” she said with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be fine,” he replied, thankful that she cared. “And I’ll be better once we can get back to save our people. My men are working on bringing down the wall right now.”
“I need you to wait.”
He frowned, “Wait? Why?”
“Because if you bring down that wall and call the army back to the city, Van Dorn’s forces will flood the streets of Corridor Prime. Hundreds if not thousands of innocent people will die.”
“All the Silent Thunder warriors in Prime will die if we don’t,” he said. “Grace is still in there, Liz.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But help is coming.”
“Help?” Davian asked. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated, “Davian, this morning when I asked if you trusted me, you hesitated. It hurt me, I won’t lie, though I do understand your reasons. But you are going to have to trust me now. If you don’t, more people are going to die.”
He was quiet, mulling her words. Could he trust her in this? He had a hard time believing she would ever harm Grace, after the stories he had heard about their time in the Wilderness, but did he believe it enough to leave Silent Thunder defenseless?
“What’s it going to be, Davian?” she asked. “Do you trust me?”
