by Jim Mohr
The Alliance hardware has become the most lethal the world has ever seen. The Death’s Head jet is their crown jewel. It is armed with ten dual air to air/air to ground missiles, they can be laser guided or heat seeking. The recently perfected Davante III nuclear engine is installed in every jet. It allows the jet to fly completely around the planet at a top speed of almost Mach 3 (2304 mph) in 10.8 hours, without refueling. The Death’s Head can strike anywhere, at any time.
The years of peace and build up have had frequent interruptions. Clashes between the Alliance and the Resistance include small raids, assassination attempts, and small airstrikes. In boxing, it is the small jabs to feel your opponent out at the beginning of round one.
The High Commanders in the Resistance have had enough games. Doctrine incorporated from the Russian tactics playbook surfaces in their plans. Moscow base pushes forward with a bold plan: They will assassinate the Admirals at the Wisconsin Illinois base and at the Atlanta base. The ensuing confusion will be followed by an airstrike coming from Berlin and Prague. Their target will be Wisconsin Illinois base. The infiltration into the bases will be easy. Assassins can enter both bases with relative ease; the Resistance has agents already planted in high positions within the Alliance. Aiding the assassination team at Wisconsin Illinois base is a young Sergeant who has grown to be a powerful Psychokinetic. He is from the area near Wisconsin Illinois base and has proven his loyalty. His training qualifies him as more lethal with his hands, than the pistol at his side. In martial arts he has a black sash in kung fu, a third-degree black belt in karate, and he is adept at Japanese wrestling, aikido, and jujitsu. His telekinesis aids his punching power when he wants it to. He has killed in the name of the Resistance. The plan is perfect…
Chapter 17
Cougar—On a Plane Nearing Wisconsin Illinois Base
“We are in our descent.” The pilot speaks over the intercom. I look at Sebrev, the daydreaming of my past fades away. I casually brush my fake Alliance uniform and crack my neck. I am ready to die.
Sebrev is playing the role of an Alliance Colonel. I am supposed to be his assistant, a Corporal. “Corporal, I need to rest before we go to our meetings.” His fake Texas accent sounds too much like a twentieth-century Western movie.
“Yes, sir. I will see that you are not disturbed.” I allow my previously hidden Wisconsin accent to return.
When the plane touches the ground, I look quickly out the window next to Sebrev and see the base through the small hole. It isn’t what I remember from nine years ago. It isn’t a ragtag bunch of burning buildings; it isn’t home to my father’s corpse, murdered by this son of a bitch across the plane from me. The plane taxis to the security post and stops. The Devante engines begin their power down sequence as I unbuckle my restraint harness and stand as the door opens. The air is more humid than Prague’s.
My low-cut boots strike the concrete. I look up at the six-million-square-foot concrete, steel, and armor fortress that is the Wisconsin Illinois base. My studies of this base resurface in my mind: 1,000,000 ft.² of floor space over three stories to house the seventy attack jets and copters. This base is surrounded by a reinforced concrete and steel wall. Towers stand throughout the perimeter housing 50 caliber sniper rifles and machine guns. Air Defense artillery on the roof and sides defend the Goliath of a base from the air.
I know there is no escape for me now. I must go through with my plans. I feel Sebrev’s Timere power seeping through the air like airborne cancer. I shudder as he approaches me.
“Let’s go, Corporal,” he sneers.
“Yes, sir.”
We follow the other passengers from the flight toward the initial security checkpoint. Before us stands an armored, bulletproof door. Four guards stand on the outside of the door, four are on the inside. Two remote gun armaments sit at waist level on either side of the door. Each gun can fire in a 180° area and if the four exterior guards are killed, the guns will destroy anyone else at the door.
For the first time since the Timere class, I feel fear, not of dying, but of the painful moments before my heart stops. Fear of feeling the hot, soft lead tearing through my flesh, shattering bone. Fear of hearing my heartbeat stop.
A loud noise startles me as a Death’s Head jet takes off. The noise rattles my already frayed nerves. I sense something, another Psychokinetic, someone like me. Sebrev coughs when the noise of the Death’s Head jet engines fades into the north. “Let’s clear the checkpoint, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir,” I respond and I pull my fake ID badge from its chain lock hanging around my waist.
A thin man, a private, approaches me. His assault rifle is pointing at an angle toward the ground. “Corporal, welcome to Wisconsin Illinois base.” This private is a Psychokinetic. If he reads my mind, this whole mission is a failure. He can sense Sebrev. I have to be firm, he has to know.
“Hello private, it’s good to be home.” I hand him my ID badge as he looks at Colonel Sebrev.
“Sir, welcome to Wisconsin Illinois base.”
“Thank you, private,” Sebrev replies as he hands his badge to the Sergeant of the guard.
The private continues to stare at Sebrev as I speak, “Private, if you read his mind he will know and it’ll be your ass.”
“Yes, Corporal,” he replies as he places my badge in the leftmost security slot. A retinal scanner moves smoothly from its home, set in the wall. “I’ve never seen a Timere before,” he says.
I chuckle. “The Colonel hears that a lot.” I place my chin on the chinrest of the scanner as it scans me. Our infiltration into the Alliance database is perfect; we can infiltrate any Alliance facility in the world.
After both our retinal scanners beep, a green light shines from above the security door and the door slides open. I pass through the doorway and the four interior guards salute Colonel Sebrev, he returns their salutes crisply. Our badges are given back as we proceed.
We must get to our safe room; the room set aside for us to stay the night. Tomorrow is our day, the day when we assassinate Admiral Valvadore Cummings, the day we all die.
Chapter 18
Cheetah—Atlanta Base
The Next Morning
My sword, my lovely Kastane sword. The hilt, a beautiful cheetah head, the blade, tempered and forged by a smithy in Sri Lanka. The smithy knew that the sword was for me. The old man knew me through my father. I miss my father so. I guess that is what my life has been, one after another, missing men or boys as they are removed from my life.
The reflection in my bathroom mirror looks back at me with a devious smile. The girl in the mirror is not who she seems to be. I think that I am cute; my light brown, shoulder length hair never seems to defy my will. My blue eyes see everything, and I have been blessed with a soft face without blemish. I am Cheetah, I am a fifteen-year-old girl who has defied the rules of Alliance enlistment and has just been promoted to Sergeant.
I take one last look at my uniform, ensuring everything is correct for today’s meetings. I must be perfect because today I am to meet Admiral Calvin Abraham, head of Atlanta base. Then, I begin my work in the O2 (intelligence) department.
My small apartment is only a bathroom and a one-room combination bedroom/kitchen. The 550 ft.2 apartment is more like a prison than anything else. Using my speed, I can flush the toilet, run to the kitchen, get a drink from the small refrigerator, and be back to see the waste leave the scene. My abilities are wasted in this human world.
I place my hand on the cheetah head hilt of my sword, a calmness washes over me. I know this sword is who I am. I am Cheetah.
To me, the world travels at a snail’s pace. When I want to, I can see the wings of a hummingbird as they flap. I can see an explosion in slow-motion. Humans do not know what it is like, to strike someone while they stand there. They react, and I am back in the same position as if I had never moved. My speed has been with me my entire life. It is
a part of me, as natural as breathing.
I sense the approach of the executive officer, second in charge of the O2 department, Colonel Max Renfroe. He knows me; he has guided me through my Basic Military Courses (BMC) and my Non-commissioned Officer (NCO) school.
My muscles tense, I am ready to pounce. The buzzer of my doorbell sounds and I sprint to the door. I open it before the buzzer ceases its wail.
“Christ Sergeant, don’t do that!” Colonel Renfroe jumps back, startled at the suddenness of the open door.
“Sorry, sir,” I respond, giggling playfully.
“Sergeant Smith, be prepared for the Admiral to question your rank and age. As you know, sixteen is the legal age of enlistment. He will resist not only you being enlisted at fifteen, but he will take exception to you already having completed NCO school. Let me do the talking.”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely sir.” I close my apartment door behind me.
“It’s early yet, so we will have to catch him after the Command Staff Meeting. This will be your first experience in the Command Level, but it won’t be your last.”
“Yes, sir. Sir?” I ask as my feet do not seem to touch the floor. My energy seems limitless.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“Sir, has General Vaughn decided what project I’ll be assigned to?” Major General Tabby Vaughn is the O2 leader. She is a neat woman and she’s tough as nails, even for a human.
“We’ve talked about putting a junior officer on a new project to analyze Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. We may assign you with that junior officer, as their assistant.”
Our walk to the elevators and the descent into the Command Level are without incident. As soon as the elevator opens I sense a very powerful Psychokinetic. The two guards standing on either side of the elevator door snap to attention.
“Sir?” I ask Colonel Renfroe.
“What now Sergeant?”
“Sir, one of these guards is like me.”
Colonel Renfroe stops midstride. I see him turn as if in slow-motion. The guard, a Sergeant First Class looks at me. His eyes are dark brown, his hair is black. He has a dark complexion and brooding persona.
“Sergeant, there are probably quite a few Psychokinetics here,” Colonel Renfroe says as he sees the Sergeant First Class staring at me. “Sergeant First Class, what’s your name?”
The dark, brooding man turns to the Colonel. “Sir, I am John Lightfeather.” He then looks at me. “Regardless of your rank, you call me German Shepherd or Shepherd.”
I smile at the man. “What if I outrank you?”
His eyes flash, I feel his power. Every one of his powers is strong. “You will call me German Shepherd or Shepherd.”
I flick my head playfully as I size the man up. I would like to test this man, to see if the German Shephard is greater than the Cheetah. I know from my dreams, from the animals standing before the white marble throne, that the German Shepherd was one step under the Wolf. I, on the other hand, am below the Mountain Lion, the Tiger, and the Lion. “German Shepherd, would you like to spar with me sometime? I am curious about your abilities.”
The Sergeant First Class does not smile; he does not understand my playfulness. “I have no desire to be a part of your games, cat. Do your job, and don’t get anyone killed.”
Colonel Renfroe stares at me. I read the Colonels mind, he is frustrated. We are running late to meet the Admiral. That’s funny, a cheetah running late. I’m so silly…
***
Cougar—Wisconsin Illinois Base
I have spent months studying the layout of Wisconsin Illinois base—memorizing the security checkpoints, the targets, and the floor plans. Our objective is sublevel two, the Command Level A 400,000 ft.² level which houses the O1 (Tactics and Operations), O2 (Intelligence), O3 (Staffing), O4 (Supply and Maintenance), the Air Department (both the Air Force and the Air Defense), the Special Operations department (which is responsible for all spy and assassination missions), and the Security department (in charge of security checkpoints, base alerts, and the security of the base and its perimeter).
Colonel Sebrev and I assume our post outside the Command Central—the nerve center of the base. We are joined by two other guards. The two others are assassins working with us. However, unlike Sebrev and I, they are human.
We four killers will wait for Admiral Cummings and whoever is unlucky enough to be accompanying him to the Command Central. He’s meeting with the Command Staff—the senior officers from the departments. Afterward, he will walk right to us, on his way to Command Central. First, I will kill Colonel Sebrev. He will pay for taking me nine years earlier, he will pay for killing my dad. I will then be killed, either by the other assassins, the Alliance guards or by my own hand. I will die, and I am at peace with that. In my mind I see images of a dead mountain lion, no one weeps for it, no one misses it. The animal will die alone and without happiness, like the one in the Prague zoo, those years ago.
Down the hallway and around the corner we hear the security door of Command Staff Room 1 open. I can hear talking. It is time… God, forgive me and grant me a quick death. I am ready to die.
Chapter 19
Cougar—Wisconsin Illinois Base
Sebrev is our signal, our leader. He will initiate the attack. When he raises his weapon, that is when I will make my move. I have to ensure that I get all of the assassins before the Alliance gets me, the Resistance must pay for what they’ve done. Sebrev isn’t the problem for me, the last assassin is the problem. If they turn on me, if I am too slow, he will live and he will kill the Admiral.
The Admiral’s entourage rounds the corner on their way to Command Central, on their way to us, I sense them. Without even looking, I can see the Admiral, a Sergeant, and the O1 and O2 officers. I sense Sebrev’s excitement. He couldn’t have hoped for a bigger prize than the three most important men at this base.
“Attention!” Sebrev yells and we snap to attention. I reach out with my telekinesis, I find my pistol—a standard Alliance issue 45. I can see Sebrev’s finger flip the safety on his assault rifle. He is my target; I focus on him, on his rifle. When it moves, I will move.
Years of practicing with Nada, learning what entering a Timere mind does to them, is about to pay off. Nada told me that when I read their mind it is like loud static noise. We experimented and found that the less powerful the Timere, the longer the static would last. The static breaks their concentration, it makes them less able to use their power. For years I have practiced using my powers in combinations. Making my telepathy reach out while my telekinesis aides the unholstering of my sidearm. I have gotten good at my draw speed, very good.
The entourage is 8 feet from us. Sebrev tightens his grip on his rifle. I can hear the tendons in his arm as the rifle moves ever so slightly. Without thinking, my 45 leaps into my hand. My arm raises and I enter Sebrev’s mind.
I see Jets! Dozens and dozens of Jets from Berlin and Prague. They are on their way here. They are coming to kill this base, to destroy it.
Sebrev flinches from the intrusion as my pistol is aimed at the bastard’s head. “Remember me?” I say and I squeeze the trigger. I don’t even hear the shot, though I feel the recoil. The bullet strikes him in the middle of the forehead an inch above the bridge of his nose. His eyes roll and go dead as the back of his head explodes out. Blood spray shoots forward.
The second and third assassins don’t have time to react. I turn to the one next to me as the pistol barely touches his temple. I squeeze the trigger, he drops.
Blood fills my nose as death descends on the second man. The O2 officer jumps on the Admiral to shield him from the bullets. The third assassin is raising his weapon against me; the Admiral’s Sergeant is drawing his weapon. My telekinesis grabs the last assassin’s weapon and pushes it down as he fires into the floor.
I level my aim and squeeze twice more. More blood spray and a gurgling n
oise escape his bloody mouth.
“I surrender!” I yell, fearing the hot lead that will speed toward my frail, but muscular flesh. “I surrender! Don’t shoot!” I drop the pistol and fall to my knees with arms spread.
Fuck! Did I speak in English or Russian? “I submit, I resign, I quit.” A sharp pain explodes from the back of my head and the world turns red.
***
Cheetah—Atlanta Base
“Listen, Sergeant, I’m not going to correct you again. You are in the O2 department. Getting into pissing contests with security personnel, regardless if they are human or Psychokinetic, isn’t something you should do.” We stop outside Command Staff Room 1, waiting for the door to open.
“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to cause a problem.” Dammit, why am I so rambunctious?
“All right, Sergeant, just drop it.”
I can sense several humans on the other side of the door to Command Staff Room 1. Some are men, some are women. All of them are important. General Vaughn is one woman, there is also a female NCO in there. I can sense them all.
The door makes a clicking noise and slides open. The noise startles me, I’m on edge, I’m like a cat wiggling their butt before they pounce. Why?
The Admiral emerges from Command Staff Room 1, at his side is a short Japanese man, Major General Jackson Quam. Colonel Renfroe and I snap to attention and salute, the Admiral returns our salutes.
“Sir, I would like to introduce you to our newest O2 NCO,” Colonel Renfroe blurts out as we drop our salutes.
Admiral Abraham looks at me. He is visibly upset at Colonel Renfroe. “Excuse me, Colonel? Is she a Sergeant? How old are you, Sergeant?”
“Sir, I am fifteen. I turn sixteen next month.” I enter his mind. I’m not looking for anything in particular, just trying to find a way out of this situation.