by G. R. Carter
Alex overcame his shock, then waved his brother inside the Valkyrie. “It’s cold out there, Sammy, come on inside.”
His younger brother stepped through the opening and in one motion sat down across from Alex.
“This is a welcome surprise,” the Founder said.
Sam didn’t return the pleasantries. “Why aren’t you going to help Lori?” he asked abruptly. His high-and-tight haircut allowed a vein to bulge from his temple. In that instant, Alex recognized their father from his younger days. The sight nearly took his breath away. Alex was the one who lived in Phillip Hamilton’s constant shadow, each deed judged by what his father would have done in a similar situation. Sitting here in the dim light of an armored vehicle that was their father’s legacy, Alex realized Phillip Hamilton’s true successor was his youngest son.
But that didn’t change what needed to be done at the moment. “When we hit the White City, every jiji in the Midwest will come to help them. They’ll all coming running to get to us, they’ll break themselves against our armor.” Alex realized he’d pounded his fist on the desk. He took a deep breath and explained, “It’s the quickest way to lift the siege at Beardstown.”
“And a great chance for you to take over ARK.”
Alex took a moment to gather his thoughts, to keep the anger that boiled inside of him in check. Is that really what his brother thought of him at this point? “ARK’s already gone,” Alex replied. “But if we don’t root the Caliphate out of the White City right now, they’ll be a thorn in our sides until they figure out a way to come after us.”
Sam remained emotionless. “You’re willing to bet Lori’s life on that?”
Alex again fought the urge to snap back. He tried to encourage honest feedback, especially from people like his family and Martin Fredericks. But sometimes…
“Lori’s a big girl, Sam. She’s not some damsel in distress. She knows how to handle herself in a fight. The fortresses will hold until we draw the jijis off. Besides, our armor won’t work against a bunch of crazies running out in the woods. No open ground there to operate.”
“What about Essie? If you chase the Caliphate out of the White City, they’ll just go west, and that’s where Essie is.”
“That’s where we think Essie is.”
“I’m 100 percent positive. Where else would she be?”
Alex paused. Sam had known exactly how he’d answer the Lori question. He’d set Alex up for what he really wanted.
“Sam, what would you have me do? Essie’s with Nicole Diamante as far as we know. We can’t get her back without flying over hostile territory and landing in a war zone. And that’s if we can find them. We just have to pray for now she’ll be fine until we can get rid of the Caliphate.”
“That’s not good enough. I want to go find her,” Sam said. He still wore the exact same expression he’d arrived with.
“How?”
“I’ve been studying maps of the area. I’m sure I know how to find them,” he said coolly.
“And you’re just going to fly over and get her, then fly right back?”
“Something like that.”
“What do we have that’s got the range to get you and another person back here?”
“The C–130s can make it there and back.”
Alex leaned back and relit his pipe. The smoke filled the tiny compartment. If it bothered Sam, he didn’t let it show. And Alex didn’t really care.
“We’ve only got three of those. And you know what they’re for,” Alex said. Red Hawk Wizards had found a squadron of ancient National Guard C–130 transport planes sitting at the Peoria airport shortly after the Republic took over the area. The whole lot was in bad shape, deteriorating in the harsh Midwestern climate. The engineers salvaged a handful, cannibalizing the rest for parts. Originally designed to fly without advanced avionics, retrofitting for “modern” flight was remarkably simple. Keeping the giants in the air was a different story.
Sam let a tiny grin appear. Alex wasn’t sure he liked the look. “I’ll do it,” the youngest Hamilton brother said.
“Do what.”
“I’ll lead Project Lancer for you. But I want a trade.”
Alex tried not to look stunned. “Who said I was going ahead with Lancer?”
“Oh please, Alex. You made up your mind a long time ago. You were just waiting for someone, anyone to agree with you so you’d be vindicated. Well, here I am, ready and willing to come on board.”
Alex couldn’t imagine what would make his brother change his mind on something he’d vehemently opposed from the start. He was afraid to ask, but he did anyway.
“What do you want in return?”
“To let me fly on from there to Independence. I’ll take just one C–130. The other two can come back to base. Just in case I don’t make it back, you’ll still have them for whatever else you cook up.”
“And since you’re reading my mind, you already assumed I’d want the White City targeted?”
“It’s become your obsession, the obvious choice. Why else would you be here, really?”
Alex ignored the insult. “Flying there is one thing. Landing and taking off are quite another. You sure you can do it?”
Sam simply nodded.
Alex shrugged. If his brother was willing to risk his life – more importantly, if he was willing to risk the rest of his crew’s life on this mission – he must be reasonably sure he could pull it off. Alex could think of no situation where Sam had cavalierly risked the lives of his people. “All right, if you’re that certain. I mean, if it’s that important to you, go ahead.”
Part of him was hurt that his brother seemed to be negotiating with him like a subject would a sovereign. Is that really the way Sam looked at him now? Regardless how Sam felt, Alex still loved him as his brother.
Alex tried to reconnect on a personal level. “Celeste is okay with this? Won’t this cause problems between you two?”
“Problems?” he snorted. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so. Except we’re pretty much done. She told me it was you or her. I had to choose.” The look on Sam’s face softened for a moment, and his voice cracked just a bit.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t want that. Is there anything I can do to fix it?”
Sam’s face hardened again. “No. I didn’t choose you, Alex. I chose our republic. Lancer is the right move. I see that now. She’s wrong to oppose it. She’s blinded by her hatred of you. Not that she doesn’t have a reason sometimes.” Sam paused as the words sank into both of them. “But this is total war. One we’ve got to win, or all our parents’ work is for nothing.”
Alex wanted to cry. He saw the pain on his brother’s face, and it cut him deeply. Worse, he could see himself through Sam’s eyes. If his own brother looked at him that way…he must truly be the heartless bastard his enemies feared.
The tears quickly dried. So be it.
“All right, brother. When can you have everything ready?” Alex asked, as one officer to another.
“I’ve already sent word to gather the crews. We’ll put together a squadron of Raptors to escort us over the target. I don’t anticipate any problems, but just in case. I’ve sent word to Skyler to join us in Peoria. He seems to know best how to handle the payload. I’d say a few days at the most.”
Alex nodded. “Good, good. I’ll finish our ground attack plans.” Alex tried once more to reconnect with his brother. “Sam, I know this is difficult for you. Our children’s children will reap the benefits. This is our burden to bear. I hope you believe this is going to save thousands of our people’s lives in the end.”
Sam Hamilton remained emotionless. “Oh, I believe it’s going to save our lives,” he said, his voice as cold as the metal surrounding them. “I just don’t know what it’s going to do to our souls.”
With that he was up and out of his seat and through the hatch. “Goodbye, Alex,” the Founder heard his brother say, and then he was gone into the night.
Chapter Twenty-One
Do
wntown Beardstown
Western Frontier – Red Hawk Republic
Levi and Wasson sat huddled in the cold winds. Time kept slipping past, too much time. Every moment let another group of…Levi still wasn’t sure exactly who it was coming across the frozen river into the streets of Beardstown. Their origin didn’t really matter; their intentions did.
Levi had prepared himself for the one-way mission they were facing. He knew they had to blow the bridge to stop the stream of invaders. He also realized there was no way to blow the bridge and make it out in one piece. He convinced himself death didn’t really scare him; he’d faced it before. But the longer they sat here, looking for a way to get to the preset charges on the bridge, the very real desire for self-preservation eroded his enthusiasm. He fought the urge to tell Wasson, who seemed so confident.
“It cannot be done,” Wasson said quietly.
Levi was lost in his thoughts. Wasson’s words took a moment to sink in. “What can’t be done?” he asked.
“The bridge. We will not make it to the charges before we are overwhelmed by the demons,” he said. He dropped his head. “We have failed. I am sorry, my friend.”
Levi knew he should be deflated, too. After all, blowing that bridge was their only hope to save the town. Instead a twinge of guilt followed the relief of escaping certain death. The big man decided to keep it to himself.
He had another thought. “Wasson, if we can’t cut the snake in half, what’s the next best thing?”
The Tracker’s face came back up, more alive. “Sever the serpent’s head,” he said, almost too loud. “We must find the evil one, their leader. Of course, Levi Marshall, I should have thought of that! We have wasted too much time here.”
Levi smiled, satisfied to be thinking ahead of Wasson for once. “Where should we start looking? We’re still gonna have to dodge a lot of jijis, wherever we go.”
Wasson’s face creased in concern once more. “Yes,” he replied. “Let us think like the serpent. Where would he coil?”
Levi didn’t reply right away. Wasson’s wording still confused him at times. Then it hit. “Lori’s office,” he blurted out. “Whoever’s in charge of this operation would want a central base. Why not choose the one Lori used?”
Wasson said nothing in reply, just slapped Levi on the shoulder and began a crouch-run away from the river. After a few blocks, he turned around the corner to head back towards downtown. Immediately he dove to the ground. Levi followed as best he could, weighing half again as much and standing six inches taller, he hit more with a thud. He was graceful for a man his size, but no match for the lithe motions of the Tracker.
Wasson cast a sideways glance at his companion. “Perhaps I should go on ahead,” he said in a whisper. “I can signal you when no enemy is visible.”
Levi took the insult in stride. He shrugged, then wiggled closer to an untrimmed bush growing alongside a crumbling sidewalk. When he was concealed, he gave Wasson the thumbs-up. The Tracker was gone almost before Levi realized, vanishing like a mist. Levi settled in on his stomach, peering from underneath the dormant branches. He waited for the signal to follow. He waited, then waited some more, then put his head down on arms crossed in front of him. There would be no signal. Wasson had decided to go it alone.
*****
Beardstown’s post office sat like a mausoleum across from the Great Hall. The gray concrete structure sat sturdy and square, with narrow windows peeking out from recesses every few feet. When Lori Hamilton used the building as her headquarters, Silver Shields watched from every corner. Snipers manned the roof, accompanied by a heavy machine gun ready to lash out at any threat.
Wasson could see no one on the roof now. There was no sign of the weapon either. The only people in sight were two men wrapped in black robes at the front entrance. Both held battle rifles with battered wooden stocks in their hand, tilted down towards the street. They faced opposite directions, keeping watch for any approaching threat.
Wasson froze for a moment. It seemed odd to him the streets were empty here. He feared a trap. There should have been other guards watching from concealed positions, but he’d seen none. Could the enemy be able to elude Wasson’s trained eye? He thought not. Sounds of gunfire and yelling from a few blocks away reminded him there was a siege going on at the interior fortresses. Likely every warrior crossing the river headed directly there, or to the bridge landings to hold those from any counterattacks.
His spirit rose at the thought of resistance. Every second the defenders of Beardstown held out meant reinforcements would be one second closer. The city would hold. Even if he perished, that was all that mattered.
He studied the building for a moment more, then gathered himself for a rush at the front door. In one motion, he sprang forward, a throwing knife spinning ahead of him. The first guard died before he could see the full outline of his killer, the second died before the rifle of the first clanked onto the battered concrete below. Wasson pressed himself against the outside wall, just next to the steps leading inside. He considered the back door, but figured that would be more closely guarded. Even jijis weren’t entirely devoid of strategic thought.
Wasson waited, watching. The front door finally opened, and another pair of guards stepped out to begin their duty. The Tracker sprung from his hiding spot, killing both with his knives. He leapt through the door before either corpse came to stop at the bottom of the stairs. He dove to his left – most expected an assailant to go right – then came up with a throwing knife. He barely had time to stop his motion as he aimed for the next available target. The room was empty.
Wasson paused, dejected by the sight. He had figured to die here, to take out as many Caliphate leaders or their allied tribes. Instead his tally was four guards, no one of importance.
Hope welled up once more. Why would there be guards here if there was nothing of value?
He slowly made his way to the back hallway, where Lori Hamilton kept her maps. He peered around the corner, able to see the main office. To his surprise, back-to-back and tied to the chairs they sat on, were Darwin and Max King.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Near Downtown Beardstown
Western Frontier – Red Hawk Republic
Father Steve had never taken such a beating in his life. Again and again, Trey King hit him with an old radiator hose. The rubber was no longer smooth as it had been at the outset. There was a gritty roughness to it now, and the bishop felt every scratching crack in its surface.
Blood ran into his eyes, then down his cheeks. He could taste it as it entered the corners of his mouth.
“Tell me, priest! Tell me how to get in there and I’ll make it quick for you!” the young man shouted in a rage.
Pain called out from every inch of his battered body. Yet he could take it. He’d prepared himself for death since the day he’d said last rites over a man in an office parking lot outside of Decatur, nearly a decade and a half earlier. All his little band of Okaw militia had wanted that day was food, scavenging through office buildings in the hope that a vending machine might hold a few ration bars, desperately-needed calories to keep them alive. That day made their bizarre world more real: the understanding that the thin veneer of civilization had been peeled back sank in, that violence would be the norm in a world without no more easy access to food and resources. Coming to terms with his own mortality made the decision to enter the wildlands and bring the Unified Faith to the lost much easier. The arrival of his ultimate fate, the thought of going to his Father’s home, was almost a relief. Visualizing that meeting made him smile.
“You think this is funny, old man?” Trey growled. “We’re just getting started! In fact, there’s someone here who would very much like to talk to you. Seems he’s worried about your soul. Hmmm, what do you supposed he’s going to do to you?”
The pain wasn’t too much for Steve to take. He wasn’t scared. But the unknown was maddening. Steve blinked hard, trying to clear his vision to see who the surprise guest might b
e. A single lamp was all that lit the space he sat in. He felt the visitor’s presence before his eyes picked up the shape. Through his blurry vision a bearded face appeared just inches from his own, creased in a sinister smile. Dark pools stared back at him, studying more than just his physical form. Somehow, they were probing, searching for something inside Steve’s inner self.
Putrid breath billowed out from the beard, causing an involuntary wince. Steve did the one thing that always brought him comfort in uncomfortable situations. “Ugh, I guess the rats are particularly putrid this year,” he chuckled. “You should really think about brushing your teeth after licking their asses.”
Mystery Man said nothing. His breathing stayed steady, making sure Steve’s nostrils got their fill of the aroma.
“Do I beg for my life, or just scream and tell you I’ll never give in?” Steve asked. “I always get confused about what I’m supposed to do next in these situations.”
Still Mystery Man remained silent. Without warning he put his hand on Steve’s leg. Even through the patched denim trousers he wore, he could feel icy fingers worked their way up his thighs. Closer and closer they crept towards his crotch. Steve could see the man’s face clearly now, every pore and whisker came into view, just an inch away from his nose.
“I feel like I should tell you,” Steve gasped while trying not to breathe in through his nose, “I’m just not that kind of boy.”
“Oh little Stevie, that’s exactly what you’ll be when I’m done with you. A sniveling boy, begging for your monsignor to save you again,” Mystery Man said. “More than a gang of thugs are chasing you now. And believe me, it will take more than one old priest to save your soul this time.”
Father Steve felt a shiver shoot up his spine. He’d told very few people that story from his youth; how could this stranger know such a detail?