by Peter Smith
He turned to the drone, “Prepare to reactive my Neural link, we have work to do.”
James Dawson
London
James Dawson looked out the panoramic windows, Buckingham Palace; Big Ben and the River Thames all within his view. The rising sun was glinting off the pristine waters of the river that had at one point been polluted by industry and urban waste. The London Spire was built in Hyde Park over what had once been the Italian Gardens and a portion of the commercial district to its north. The Gardens had been destroyed during ‘The Fall’ so he had turned them into the first floor of this newly constructed Spire.
The atrium was a marvel to behold. Multi story windows let light flood into the temperature-controlled space. He enjoyed spending time down there with his boys and girls, listening to their giggles and yells of excitement as they splashed through the fountains with their excited footfalls reverberating off of the stone walkways. His stomach tightened at the thought of them. They were less than four years old, born after the deaths of both Jeffery Chen and Jacob Patterson, during the brief window of peace that had fallen over the world.
The Spire families rebuilt themselves from the devastation brought down upon them by the might of the Patterson family army clashing with the Chen alliance. His children didn’t know war, at least not yet, and he hoped to create a future where they wouldn’t.
The other man at the conference table cleared his throat as he typed at a physical keyboard placed on the table, looking at a virtual display that only he could see. The man, much like the conflict that had followed the period of calm after the war, could be considered anachronistic. Unfortunately, he and the men and women that he represented were the only path that Dawson had toward redeeming himself after orchestrating the downfall of civilization and taking part in the murder of billions.
Not that you could ever remove that stain from your soul or your part in it from the history of mankind. He knew that he would forever be known as one of the butchers of humanity. But he hoped that by working with this man against the Spire families that were still trying to perpetuate the post fall society of slavery and brutality, he could save his children from the fate that he deserved.
Dawson smirked. Jacob Patterson had arranged all of this to give his daughter a better future, too. Not for the last time, he wondered if he was walking into the same logic trap Jacob had. Would his children have to kill him as Maria Patterson had been forced to with her father?
“She’s not going to like this,”
The man stopped typing and closed his eyes, thinking about his words before he spoke them. It was that capacity for intellectual behavior that let Dawson sleep at night, confident with his choice to work with him and his legacy forces, “She’s still a child, she can’t understand.”
Dawson let his gaze slide north, toward Russia and where his virtual vision showed him Moscow was. New enemies and challenges to peace were just over the horizon, “A child with an army and industrial base that no one has matched yet”.
The Supreme Commander of Allied Forces, James Kellen, opened his eyes and leaned back in his chair, “She’s still wrestling with being a part of her father’s legacy, we can use that”.
Dawson looked at the Marine officer, the man who had been one of two that had designed the plan that had saved significant military assets of the old American and European governments from ‘The Fall’. An achievement Kellen had manged to maintain for fifteen years after the devastating end of civilization. He had personally contacted Dawson and Warin, the head of the Berlin Spire, twelve years ago and arranged an alliance. He had turned them both with a combination of guilt about the parts they both played in the apocalypse and intelligence revealing the intentions of both Jeffery Chen and Jacob Patterson to dominate the other Spire families.
Dawson looked away from Kellen, tapping the tabletop with his middle finger, “You’ve done a fantastic job of it since she fell into your custody five years ago. Using a strong male role model to establish a connection with her, placing a damaged young man harmed by her father into her world, hell you even ensnared the mother. You’re good at using people, aren’t you?”
Kellen smirked. “I’m not God. I can’t envision every outcome, but you put your pieces into play and hope for the best. It just so happens that this time, it ended up being successful. In war you use every asset you have at your disposal and I might add, it’s worked out pretty well for her and us.”
He looked back at Kellen, “Maybe we don’t enjoy being manipulated, do you think your XO would appreciate being considered an asset, his son a tool?”
The general swiped away his virtual vision and brought his focus upon him, “The result has been beneficial for everyone”
Dawson stopped tapping against the tabletop, “The ends justify the means is exactly the thought process Patterson followed when he wiped out civilization.”
Kellen sat up straight. “I saved lives. He took them.” He paused, his jaw working, “Don’t make the mistake of thinking just because you finally made the moral choice, that you get to preach to those of us that have always defended the life and liberty of others.”
Dawson sighed, “We went from one war to another, it’s been three months since this new conflict began and I can’t see a light at the end of the tunnel and I’m worried that no matter how hard I try I’ll never be able to make a safe world for my children. So forgive me if I’m holding you to a high standard. I’ve got a lot riding on your shoulders.”
The commander of their allied forces looked at him for a moment longer, wrestling with what to say next. Dawson knew that it wasn’t the expression of the concern for his children that had landed with the grizzled veteran, but making it clear that so much hinged on his decisions. The man had led others to victory and death through dozens if not hundreds of campaigns dating all the way back to the Taiwanese-Peoples Republic of China conflict. Dawson knew that Kellen was aware of the blood of hundreds under his command and tens of thousands of their opponents stained his hands.
Kellen looked away, “We do what we can,” the man swiped at the air, brining his virtual display back into his focus, “How do you think she’ll respond once we launch against St. Petersburg and Crimea?”
Dawson accessed the table controls and ordered a projection of a map of Eastern Europe and Western Russia, “Her options are limited,” he zoomed in on Greece, “Her nearest asset in the region is the air base in Rhodes. Crimea is within range of it. As for St. Petersburg, she’s got the same problem we do, we have to cross the arctic to get there.”
Kellen nodded, stretching his hands toward the projection and expanding the satellite imagery of the airbase. “Agreed, also her facility on Rhodes is mostly geared toward reconnaissance. What’s your assessment of her emotional reaction?”
Dawson chuckled. “Well, if there’s one way she isn’t like her father, it’s emotional control. That man could have frozen a polar bear with his personal discipline. She’ll be pissed, she’s been working to set up the Hawaiian summit for weeks now and they just started.”
“Her own damn fault for trying to leverage us into useless peace talks.” Kellen sneered, spinning in his chair to look toward Moscow, “Why the hell she thinks she can reason with that crazy damn Russian is the perfect example of the naïveté of youth,”.
Dawson looked at Kellen. “She believes in peace, can’t blame her for that,”.
“And she’s trying to achieve it by following her father’s play book. If she wants humanity to be at peace it must be free, she has to let us make our own decisions and not think she knows best.” The general stated.
“And we do?”
“A damn sight better than someone who couldn’t see her father for who he really was,” Kellen spat.
His brow furrowed. “Then why did you support the conference at Kauai if don’t believe it can have a positive outcome?” Dawson asked.
“Because I’m not Patterson, I don’t control every situation on the off chance that
I’m wrong, plus it presented the opportunity that we now have available to us.”
A mirthless chuckle erupted from Dawson as he shook his head in disbelief. “Does you director know that you’re using him to distract Trotsky’s coalition?”
“Who do you think came up with the idea?” Kellen motioned toward the map and it lit up in two locations, “Once we take the port at St. Petersburg and Sevastopol in Crimea, we’ll have his empire by the short hairs. He’ll have no choice but to disarm or risk being economically isolated.”
A knock on the door interrupted Dawson’s thought. Both men looked toward it and it opened, admitting one of his security guards, wearing an exoskeleton frame similar to the ones that the European army had used for commando units prior to the collapse. Another figure entered with them. Black synthetic muscle covered the person from the top of their combat boots to the helmet that was situated on their head, it’s black visor reflecting everything they were looking at. With access to the world’s resources restored, the Marines had spent the last several years updating all their armor to meet what their Navy SEAL counterparts had been equipped with. They were the most fearsome warriors this planet had ever seen.
It was protocol for a representative of each of their security services to enter at the same time. But Dawson wasn’t an idiot. Even with the extra equipment that his man was encased within, he stood no chance against the Marine. The exoskeletons only improved strength and speed about fifteen percent. The Marine armor could help a human being reach their absolute upper limit potential, not to mention the synthetic muscle operated as bullet resistant material that protected the wearer from gun fire. His man had to be covered in additional body armor and moved stiffly.
“General, Mr. Dawson, we’ve detected unexplained radio signals at the mouth of the Thames.” The Marine guard stated.
Dawson looked at Kellen. “What does that mean?”
The General held up a finger toward him and stood, looking toward the river, “That’s inside of our security zone, has Colonel Rommel dispatched a reconnaissance force yet?”
Blood pounded through Dawson’s veins, “Captain Dyer, have the Russian’s breached our defense perimeter?”
The Captain was one of the most senior members of his personal guard and at two meters tall the man was an intimidating sight, especially in his full combat armor. Dyer’s eyes set on Dawson. “Sir, I don’t know but I think we should move you to the secure bunker”.
A vibration ran through the superstructure of the building and all four men looked out the window toward the river. A small mushroom cloud rolled its way skyward, the reds and yellows of the flame accentuating the dark black and grey of the smoke.
The Marine security guard placed his fingertip on the side of his head, a giveaway he was from the older generation of soldiers that had joined the service prior to ‘The Fall’. Kellen’s hands were flying as he manipulated his virtual vision and Dawson was just about to access the command network for his forces when a loud tearing sound ripped apart the air in the room. Dawson looked outside the window, toward where one of the elevator tracks was located. Only now, instead of a personnel car, he saw a boxy platform with a large multi-barreled gun. It sprayed a stream of bullets into the air before the London Spire and toward the mouth of River. Puffs of sparks and flame filled the sky as the bullets found their marks, but the gun didn’t stop firing.
A hand wrapped around his arm, Dyer was there, as always, ready to protect him. “We have to move, sir!” he shouted.
Dawson looked at him. “My family?”
Dyer pushed his entire bulk into Dawson, lifting him easily off his feet. The sharper edges of the exoskeleton dug into his skin and he let out a yelp of pain, not understanding what was happening. As he was propelled away from the table, a similar scene was playing out, the Marine guard grasping Kellen and hurling him to the side.
The window exploded in a shower of glass shards, speeding into the room. Something impacted the Marine, carrying him off his feet and hurtling into the far wall. A moist metal crunch resounded through the room as the soldier came to a sudden stop, pinned with their feet several meters off the ground. Blood poured from their torso and began to fall, not onto the ground but an object hidden from view. Rivulets of red created a macabre web along the hull of the craft.
Dyer dropped him down behind an assistant’s desk, flipping it with ease. Dawson thought about how futile the attempt to protect him was. It would be only moments before the AI operating the weapon realized it had breached the building and detonated its warhead and no office desk, no matter how well constructed, would protect him from that force.
The device exploded. When a roar of pain didn’t greet him he opened his eyes in time to see a large piece of the object land several feet onto the floor. The pinned Marine, a white foam frothing from the wound in their abdomen, reached for the sidearm strapped to their thigh.
A thin and lithe combat drone leapt out of the inside of the craft and onto the front of the soldier. Its right arm shot upward, plunging a honed implement directly into the artificial muscle atop the soft flesh of the man’s chin. Their head jerked upward, and their hand immediately dropped the pistol that had been pulled from the holster. The machine’s legs oriented themselves against the wall and pressed away, cartwheeling to the ground in a graceful arc that ended with no sound.
Except for that of Dyer’s rifle, a burst from which caught the machine directly in its chest, blasting an arm off and sending it spinning to the floor. Dawson looked at his guard, his hand already descending to clap the man on the shoulder when Dyer flew backward. Dawson fell behind the desk, his instincts taking over as the sharp report of another rifle filled the conference room. He looked over to his guard, he had slid several meters away, carried there by the kinetic energy imparted into his body from the bullets. There was another enemy in the craft.
Heavy boot falls, steady and ominous, reached him behind the desk. He sat there on the floor, not sure what to do. He wasn’t a soldier; he had never claimed to be. He had relied on men such as Dyer to protect him and his family from the dangers of the world and here he now was, helpless against God only knew what else. He could see Dyer’s rifle centimeters away. If he was going to die, then he would do so on his feet, like any person should.
As he stretched his fingers toward the weapon, the top of the desk exploded into chips. Bullets bounced off the tile floor just beyond the rifle, streaking the polished surface. His hand recoiled, and he drew his arms around his legs. The footsteps stopped just behind the table. He turned his head and looked into the masked face of a human, their armor bearing the insignia of the Moscow Spire.
They pointed their rifle directly at his forehead, Dawson closed his eyes and did his best to imagine the garden, praying to God that his security staff had secured his family.
“Trotsky wishes for you to,” A gunshot cracked the air, showering Dawson in blood and bone. Dawson opened his eyes to see the muzzle of the rifle swing upward, the corpse’s finger twitching hard enough for it to discharge into the ceiling. The body fell to the ground in a mass of uncontrolled limbs and armor.
Dawson focused on Kellen, who stood centimeters behind where the enemy soldier had. The pistol he used to shoot the man in the back of the head was angled toward the ground and he stepped to Dyer. Dawson crawled across the ground, smearing the dead soldier’s blood across the tile in bright red streaks. Kellen had taken a knee and was checking Dyer’s armor when the man’s eyes popped open, “Oh thank God” Dawson gasped, stopping on his hands and knees before him.
“How bad you are you hit?” The general asked, looking at Dyer.
Dawson’s guard patted himself on the chest, his hand landing on his right pectoral where a small hole in the fabric existed, “Inner layer caught the rounds”. He tried to sit up but fell back to the floor, groaning.
The door to the conference room burst open. Dawson’s head snapped around to see who was entering. No one came through the threshold an
d then a squad of his security rushed through, weapons drawn and heading directly toward him. He pushed himself upward, extending a hand to Dyer. “Can’t let the men see you lying down on the job. ”
The man smirked and extended his arm upward, and Dawson grasped it, being pulled to his feet. As the squad of guards arrived, he looked for the one with a red cross patch on their armor. “Dyer need’s medical attention. ”
The medic took the Captain and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, another of the squad taking the other side and the three of them made their way to the exit. The leader of the squad, a Lieutenant Straley, stepped up to him. “Sir, what are your orders?”
Dawson looked at the man, “Is my family okay?”
“We’ve moved them to the safe suite.”
A colossal weight left his shoulders, and he realized how hard it had been for him to breathe moments earlier. He turned to look at Kellen who was speaking into thin air and after several seconds he nodded, listening to voices that only he could hear. Dawson was certain he felt the air shift around them as something or some things unseen moved through the room. “What’s the plan general?” He asked Kellen.
The Supreme Commander of Allied forces, controlling the vast collective armies of the London and Berlin Spires along with the entirety of Free Humanity’s military might looked at Dawson, surrounded in a knot of security, “Trotsky appears to have committed most of his special forces to this decapitation strike.”
Kellen turned and pointed through the missing glass of the panoramic window, the wind blowing in gusts through the room, “They frog manned through the Thames and I’m sure that’s how their distraction force planned on getting back out.”