The Soldiers of Halla

by D. J. MacHale

“Don’t go praising me yet,” he cautioned. “We’re just getting started.”

  We hovered in the air over the park. Behind us the four helicopters settled in and hovered at the same altitude—one by one they came into formation. Mark watched to make sure they were all there. I took another look down to see the crowd moving farther up Fifth Avenue. It was an inspiring sight. In front, leading the way, was Uncle Press. Along with Loor, Alder, Spader, and Siry. Aron and Boon, the gar and the klee, were right behind them. This army had a long walk in front of them. That was okay. We had other business to attend to first.

  Mark put the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Are we go?” he barked into it.

  He got back four replies. “Go one.” “Go two.” “Go three.” “Go four.”

  “Follow us, kids,” Mark replied. He clicked off his walkie and motioned for Kasha to kick it.

  The gig shot forward, flying straight up Fifth Avenue. I looked down to see that the exiles and gars were waving and cheering us on. We flew over them with our gig in the lead, the point of an arrow, followed by the four black helicopters.

  Attack helicopters.

  The soldiers of Halla were on the move.

  So far everything had gone according to plan, but it all felt so tenuous. Each new step was critical to the success of the following step. Right now, the next step was ours. If we were successful, the attack had a chance. If not, it could turn into a bloodbath before we even got close to the Conclave of Ravinia.

  As we flew north, Courtney held my hand. We didn’t speak. What was there to say? Our heads were in the game. There would be time for talk later. I hoped.

  We flew through the gray fog and swirling dust that was now a familiar aspect of Third Earth. I hoped that Mark could find his way through the muck. It was hard to see the ground, and the only thing in front of us was nothing. I trusted him, just as I had trusted him so many times before. Kasha dutifully followed his every instruction and made slight course adjustments when asked.

  It was about ten miles from the park to the conclave. Not far in a helicopter. There wasn’t much time to kick back and get psyched for the challenges ahead. It seemed as if we had been flying for only a few minutes when Mark said to Kasha, “The bridge is our marker. When we clear the top, drop down fast. Like real fast. The fog will clear. As soon as we spot the target, break left and ascend. We don’t want to be in the way. That would hurt.”

  Kasha nodded. She got it.

  I hoped that the fog wasn’t covering the top of the bridge structure. It wouldn’t be smart to hit that thing.

  “We’re close,” Mark announced.

  I felt the tension in his voice. He was focused. He leaned forward, as if those extra few inches would help him to see a little better. Courtney squeezed my hand. Where was that bridge? All we saw was swirling gray.

  Mark couldn’t take it anymore. “We’ve gotta be close,” he said to nobody, and toggled his walkie-talkie. “Go hot,” he barked.

  The replies came back in seconds.

  “One is armed.” “Two is armed.” “Three is armed.”

  That was it. Ten seconds passed. I saw a bead of sweat slip down Mark’s temple. His jaw muscle worked furiously. He pulled the walkie back to his lips and was about to speak when…

  “Four is armed. Sorry, Mark.”

  “You’re killing me here, Tony. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “Show us the way, boss.”

  “There!” Kasha announced.

  The top of the bridge came into view, barely visible through the swirling fog.

  “Got it,” Mark said, obviously relieved. “Little to the right…little more…”

  We sailed by the left of the bridge with only a few yards to spare.

  Mark lifted his walkie. “Stand by. This is it,” he announced.

  He waited another two seconds, then shouted to Kasha, “Down! Now!”

  Kasha pushed the stick forward. We dove to the deck. The four choppers were right on our tail. Suddenly the fog cleared, and the massive front wall of the conclave appeared before us.

  “Oh, man,” Courtney gasped. It was her first view of the imposing structure.

  I was more concerned about seeing something else. It was the next piece in the puzzle. If it wasn’t there, we’d be in trouble.

  It was. Exactly where it had to be.

  “On the money,” Mark called over the walkie. “Take it out!”

  He motioned for Kasha to break off our run. “Go! Get outta here!” She throttled up and broke hard to the left. The choppers behind us didn’t. They stayed on line, headed right for the target.

  Saint Dane’s flume.

  Kasha pulled up and circled around so we could get a view of the attack. The stolen helicopters were armed with the same type of rocket that we had seen used to blast the zoo building. The first two choppers let them fly. Multiple white streaks shot from their bellies, headed for the mouth of the flume. They hit. Hard. The explosions were deafening. Right on target. The first two choppers broke off, left and right, barely missing the wall of the conclave. The way was clear for the second two choppers to make their attack run. They launched, again hitting the flume dead-on. Debris from the concussions flew high into the air. Smoke was everywhere. It was hard to see exactly what damage they had done. The second set of helicopters broke off. The first two had already come around for a second run. They launched again, pulverizing the ground around the flume.

  “Hang on,” Mark ordered into the walkie. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  All four choppers circled away. We watched the ground, waiting for the smoke to clear. The plan we had devised to battle Saint Dane and his dado army was tricky. It relied totally on timing. Our success or failure in destroying this flume could easily mean the difference between victory and defeat. We knew that Saint Dane would send his army to Eelong, so we used that. We wanted him to use his power to build a flume. We wanted the dados to go. All of the dados. We just didn’t want him to be able to bring them back. At least, not quickly.

  “They’re going to find the other flume,” Courtney said soberly.

  “Eventually,” I said. “Hopefully, too late.”

  “Why don’t we destroy the other one too?” Kasha asked.

  Mark kept his eyes on the clearing smoke as he answered. “We put everything we had into this attack. There are no more rockets.”

  We knew that from the beginning. We only had enough firepower to destroy one flume. Whether we liked it or not, we were going to have to face the army of dados. Our hope was that we would stand a better chance against them from behind the walls of the fortress. That was the thinking, anyway. There was still a very big hurdle to jump over before we got that far. We had to invade and control the fortress.

  Right. That.

  “I can see it,” Kasha exclaimed.

  The smoke cleared, revealing a huge expanse of shattered rocks, dirt, and debris. The flume was sealed.

  “I’m thinking they know we’re here,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Mark concurred. “Now it gets scary.”

  JOURNAL #37

  39

  We had come up with a bold plot for the conquest of Ravinia.

  The exiles and gars had accepted the battle. We had successfully evacuated Black Water and brought them to Third Earth. Saint Dane had created a flume and used his dark spirit to send his dado army to Eelong, just as Nevva said he would.

  Then we destroyed their flume, trapping the dados on Eelong.

  That is, they were trapped until they discovered the second flume. I had no doubt that as soon as they realized they were on the wrong territory, the dados would leap into the second flume and return to Third Earth. The wild card would be how long it would take the dado army to change gears and deal with the unexpected. I hoped the size of that army would actually help us. It wouldn’t be easy to reassemble so many and quickly march them into the second flume. At least, that’s what we were counting on. />
  Surprise had been on our side. Not anymore. With the firing of those missiles and the destruction of Saint Dane’s flume, we had announced our arrival. The clock was definitely ticking. Our goal was to control the Conclave of Ravinia before the dados returned. We stood a much better chance against that immense army from behind the protective walls of the conclave. That was the immediate goal. We needed to get into the conclave. Quickly.

  “Here they come,” Mark announced.

  Rising up from the factory beyond the gates of the conclave were helicopters. I counted a dozen. Just as we expected.

  “Get us on the ground,” I ordered Kasha.

  She quickly dropped the gig to the edge of the river that separated Manhattan from the Bronx. We landed on the conclave side. It wouldn’t be good to be in the air, because we knew what was coming. The rebels who had blasted the flume were long gone. They knew what was coming too.

  Mark ordered a simple, sharp command into his walkie. “Take ’em down.”

  We all looked to the Manhattan side of the river. There, lined up along the far bank, stretching out for several hundred yards, were dozens of yellow taxicabs. Crouched down in front of each cab were two gars.

  With radio cannons.

  The green tubes were on their shoulders, pointed to the sky. The trap was set.

  The Ravinian copters rose in attack formation. It was an imposing sight. Even from where we were, I could see their rocket launchers beneath. I had no doubt that they were fully loaded. They hovered together until the formation tightened up, then moved forward as one, headed toward Manhattan and the oncoming army of exiles and gars.

  Toward our radio cannons.

  “Tell me those things really work,” Mark said softly.

  “Watch” was my answer.

  Courtney leaned in to me. One way or another, this was going to get ugly.

  The wave of choppers cleared the fortress wall and passed over the destroyed flume. I heard their engines revving harder. They were ready to do some damage. They were about to cross the river when the trap was sprung.

  There was no sound. No explosion. No rocket trails. The only way we knew that the radio cannons had begun firing was that the helicopters started to gyrate. It was as if they were hit by an invisible force. The gars hit dead-on-target. The choppers kept moving forward, but they had lost control. Each spun in a different direction. Two went down immediately. They slammed into the ground, their rockets exploding on impact.

  “Wow,” Mark gasped. That said it all.

  Two more helicopters collided. The explosion ate up another that flew into them from behind. I don’t think the dado pilots had any idea what was happening. One moment they were in tight formation, moving forward. The next it was chaos. And destruction.

  Three more choppers bought it, slamming into the ground. The area in front of the conclave had become a mass of twisted steel and fire. I was happy to see that at least two of them had crashed into the flume grave. If it wasn’t sealed before, it definitely was after that.

  The few helicopters that had escaped the initial barrage fought back. They must have been far enough behind to see the strange lineup of taxicabs on the other side of the river and realized where the attack was coming from. They fired their rockets. Instantly two taxicabs were hit. I couldn’t watch. The Ravinians had drawn blood. We had gotten this far without a single casualty. I knew that wouldn’t last, and it didn’t. I don’t know how many gars and rebel drivers died in the helicopter attack, but I do know that none of them left their positions. Every last one of those sharpshooters continued to fire at the helicopters until the end.

  “Such brave souls,” Kasha whispered.

  They were heroes. I had no doubt that their spirits would find themselves on Solara.

  More taxicabs were targeted. Rockets slammed the ground around them, but the gars didn’t flinch. They moved their radio cannons in concert with the movements of the choppers, keeping them in their sights. The last wave of Ravinian copters had reached the river. It had all happened so fast that none of them thought to peel off and avoid the barrage. It wasn’t something they anticipated, and they weren’t prepared to react. For that, they all went down. The final wave of choppers twisted out of control. Their rockets fired aimlessly. Harmlessly. The last four helicopters splashed down in the river to either side of the rickety bridge. It had only taken a few minutes, but every last Ravinian helicopter had been shot out of the sky.

  The remaining gars on the far bank stood and cheered. Mark gave me a smile, then barked into his walkie. “Stay tight, there might be more.”

  The celebration on the ground ended quickly. We could see that the gars, with the help of the rebels and exiles, were repositioning themselves in case another wave of helicopters arrived.

  My mind was already on to the next phase of the plan. Much of what we were about to do had already been planned by the rebels. They had spent years living in the shadows, doing what they could to give the Ravinians trouble. They hijacked the helicopters. They stole weapons and defense shields. They confounded the Ravinians—who were constantly trying to smoke them out and eliminate them—by sinking safely back into the city like ghosts. What the rebels lacked was manpower. They didn’t have the numbers to be anything more than a nuisance to Ravinia. They always had big plans, but were never able to carry them out.

  Until now.

  Mark changed the frequency on his walkie and called out, “Float ’em in.”

  The reply came back, “On the way.”

  I looked beyond the sea of burning helicopter wrecks to the Conclave of Ravinia. The wall looked more imposing than ever. The giant steel doors were shut tight. A line of people appeared along the top. Defenders. Though the sight of them paled in comparison to the image of the massive army of dados, or the attack helicopters, I knew that the defenders now lining the wall of the conclave would cause us the most trouble. That is, if the next phase of the plan was successful.

  I said to Mark, “Please, tell me we caught the express.”

  Mark changed the walkie frequency again and called, “Give me good news.”

  The reply came back, “Say the word.”

  Mark looked to me and winked. “All aboard.”

  I took one more look at the conclave wall. In spite of the carnage that surrounded us, there was a strange calm. At least I thought so, because I knew what was going to happen. The battle was about to escalate far beyond the downing of a few helicopters.

  “Do it,” I said.

  Mark immediately hit the send button. “Bring it,” he ordered.

  The reply: “We’re on the move. You might want to stand back.”

  The ground in front of us began to shake. The sound of machinery could be heard above the crackle of the fires that were consuming the helicopters. Just as I had seen it happen before, a crack appeared that led from the river’s edge right up to the large, red rectangular door of the conclave. The ground parted, revealing the single train track beneath. At the same time, the water of the river boiled, followed by the large, long tube of a tunnel that rose up from beneath and connected with the rail.

  Mark shook his head in awe. “We’ve been planning this forever. Never thought we’d actually do it.”

  I said, “Nothing like a good old-fashioned train hijack, pardner.”

  A whistle shrieked from inside the tunnel. Once, twice. It issued a harsh warning. Get out of the way. Looking up at the track that led to the conclave, I saw that it ran beneath one of the burning helicopters. Mark saw it too.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “So long as there’s no unexploded rockets in that wreck.”

  It was too late to worry about it. A second later the golden train engine blasted out of the tunnel. It charged out at full speed, far faster than the train Patrick and I had hitched a ride on. They must have started back far enough to get up a full head of steam. That was wise. They were going to need it.

  As soon as the train cleared the tunnel, three men j
umped off. Actually, two jumped. One was pushed. Two were Mark’s guys, the third was the engineer. The plan was to hijack the train at Penn Station and force the engineer to drive it here. There was no reason to leave him on board for this unscheduled, one-way trip, so they pushed him off. They all rolled away from the accelerating train, hopefully unhurt.

  There was only an engine. No other cars. They were cut loose because they would have slowed the engine down. I felt Courtney tense next to me, as the engine bore down on the burning wreck of the helicopter. The golden engine slammed into the fiery mass, knocking the hulk away as easily as if it were batting away a fly. The chopper carcass bounced and rolled as the train engine charged on, headed for the giant red door that protected the conclave.

  “Here we go,” Mark said.

  I winced. It was going to be a spectacular crash. The engine hit the door at full speed. The sound was horrifying. Metal clashed with metal. The engine roared angrily as it slammed full-speed into the solid mass. The door gave way from the bottom. The train forced the immense hunk of metal inward, which broke the top loose. The engine paid for the mayhem it caused. The golden train jumped the tracks, but kept moving forward. There was too much inertia. Too much hurtling weight. Part of the stone frame around the door crumbled. The giant red door slammed the ground where the train had just been.

  I only caught glimpses through the smoke and dust, but that was enough. Through the destroyed doorway I saw that the train had flipped and rolled. It may have been huge, but it was spinning like a toy. When it finally came to rest, it was at least thirty yards inside the conclave.

  I hoped it had missed the statue of David.

  Courtney said, “Well, I guess that worked.”

  The wreck had blasted a massive wound into the wall that protected the Conclave of Ravinia.

  “Now comes the hard part,” Mark said, dead serious.

  We had blazed the path. The Conclave of Ravinia was wide open. There was nothing clever or surprising about what was to happen next. When the exiles and the gars arrived, we would storm the walls. Nothing fancy. Nothing crafty. We would use our numbers to overpower whatever force was left behind to protect the conclave. People would die. The strength of the remaining dado force would determine how many. The exiles knew it. The gars knew it. The rebels knew it. And of course, the Travelers knew it. But we were all willing to risk our lives for what we believed in.