Hard Drop

by Will van Der Vaart

  Tyco turned on him with the calm, clipped, fury of a drill sergeant. “You’re going to say that?” He growled. “After everything we’ve done here?”

  Chip stared at him sullenly, unbending misery in his eyes. “We can’t do it, Cap,” He said, sticking out his chin. “You know that.”

  “Of course it’s impossible!” Tyco barked. “That’s why they send us! Or have you forgotten who we are? We’re not favored children, we’re not recruitment posters, we’re not role models – we are the last resort they’ll never admit they have! If it were easy, if there wasn’t a deadline, if they expected us to come back, they’d send someone else! So man up and deal with it, because this is the job, and those are the breaks!”

  Chip stood, angry and frozen, weathering the storm of Tyco’s anger without making any attempt to defend himself.

  “So if four minutes is all we get,” Tyco continued, with icy calm. “We make it work. Understood?”

  The two men stood, inches apart, staring at each other angrily, one fully at the end of his rope, the other nearer to it than he cared to admit, the tension building around them.

  Flip cleared her throat nervously, cutting into the charged calm. “There is…another option.” She said, uncertainly. They turned towards her as one, Shelley included, with distinct surprise in their expressions.

  “There’s a launch facility about 3 klicks north-northwest of here.” She continued. “I marked it on the way in.” She held up her display as if to demonstrate she was serious, proving it did exist.

  “Three klicks…” Hog started, doubtfully.

  “I left a truck up on the hill.” Flip said. “It’s in bad shape, but it should run. If we can reach it, we’ll have a chance.”

  “Where is it?” Tyco asked. Flip pointed through the ceiling towards the hillside, approximating the top of the slope where she had left the vehicle.

  “It’s flipped,” she said, and nodded at MAP-11, “But with his help…”

  Tyco turned to look at Hog, Chip, and MAP-11, confirming they had heard. He ignored Shelley.

  “Everyone got that?” He asked.

  They nodded their response.

  “Good.” He said, and turned away from Chip with finality. “Whatever’s out there, keep moving and don’t look back.”

  They nodded again, and he smiled, the reins now firmly back in his hands. “Check your mags.” He said. “We’re going out.” And he placed his hand on the door controls, counting down quickly. “On my mark Three. Two, One – “

  And he plunged his hand against the mechanical override, forcing a crack in the sealed door. Light poured in through it blindingly, flooding the room and offering the team a precious, much-needed second for their eyes to adjust.

  And then the mechanism engaged, and the door flew open in front of them, leaving them exposed and squinting into the bright orange daylight.

  Effective as the blazing helicopter had been in cutting down the pursuing rebels, the flame of its demise had also served as a brightly glowing beacon visible halfway across the city. A dozen rebel platoons had made their way towards it, toiling up the half-destroyed staircase and emerging up onto the plateau. They had not tried the blast doors because there was no point in doing so. Since the early days of the uprising, the old research facility had been locked down tightly, and no amount of leverage or explosives since had made any headway on the solid stone and metal. Nor did the soldiers examine the surrounding hillside – whatever strange troops had come this way, they were not a threat now, and there was no point in wasting effort going after them. Instead, the platoons had remained, exchanging cigarettes, resting their legs, and looking out idly over the city below. They kept a token guard while they smoked and laughed, happy for the lull in their duties, unconcerned with the missing troops or the threat they represented.

  Until the doors had cracked open, and the lone soldier had emerged, eyes wide with terror, voice hoarse and cracking feebly. His uniform placed him on the other side of the mountain, though how he had come through the facility was unclear. His platoon had been wiped out, he kept saying, they had stumbled on something horrifying in the darkness below and they were all dead, all except him.

  The first bomb punctuated his words with a scream as it fell from the sky, roaring to earth and disappearing between the skyscrapers of the new city below. The impact was immediate and bone-jarring. The rebels crouched instinctively, shielding themselves as they peered down at the city below, watching the clustered buildings crumble into a cloud of fiery dust.

  Another fell soon after, and then more, and the sky turned a sickly gray. The rebels found cover where they could, many of them huddling inside the facility’s tall stone colonnade, watching as the line of orbital bombardment advanced ever closer, ever higher up the through the city, churning the asphalt and brick below into a thick morass of molten debris. It was possible, they knew, that the bombs that would kill them had already left the hangar bays overhead, and were even now streaking through the atmosphere towards them, but still they stayed, cowering, in the shadows.

  They had all but forgotten about the frantic survivor in their midst when the blast doors opened again. The gathered troops turned to stare into the dark, unable to make out what lay behind them, in the darkness of the facility.

  Tyco came first, stepping boldly into the light with his rifle raised, staring down the sea of hostile faces in front of him.

  They rose as one, rifles clattering, boots scraping the concrete, licking their lips in anticipation as they cocked their weapons and prepared to fire.

  MAP-11 emerged behind Tyco, his massive size dwarfing the machine gun in his hands, each scale of his armor shimmering a different shade of the orange-gold sky above. If he had been frightening in the dim blue darkness below, he was magnificent in the sunlight, shining golden and invincible.

  A hush went over the rebels. Chomping at the bit only seconds earlier, they had been bloodthirstily certain of their victory over whatever men emerged from the dark pit, but MAP-11 was no ordinary man. They stared at him, transfixed, watching as he stepped forwards past Tyco, putting himself directly in the line of fire fearlessly and without hesitation.

  The wounded soldier groaned pitifully, rising to his feet with shaking knees and trying to shove his way through the crowd, away from the creature. But there was nowhere for him to go as the ranks closed around him. He cowered, hemmed in on all sides as MAP-11 approached without slowing, in time with the shuddering drumbeat of explosions leveling the city below. Frantic, he stared up at the creature above him and fell to his knees.

  “Please…” he said, sobbing the word out between deep, aching breaths, bowing his head pitifully before the monster looming above him. “Please, I don’t want to…” His voice petered away into his heaving chest.

  MAP-11 turned his head dramatically from one side to the next, staring down the remaining rebels. He stepped forward emphatically, swinging his leg easily past the shaking soldier, ignoring the defenseless man at his feet in favor of the armed men in front of him. It was hypnotic and imposing; one by one the soldiers stepped backwards, until the line broke and gave way and a gap formed in the ranks to let the creature pass. First one, then another, then a whole wave of rebels fell to their knees before him, surrendering the way.

  Tyco stared at the prostrate rebels, awed by their sudden, abject surrender, he followed MAP-11 closely, stepping precisely in his footsteps, waving for the team to follow. They crept through the ranks as one, tightly-grouped unit.

  Hog kept her eyes trained on MAP-11’s back, avoiding the stares of the dozens of clustered rebels. She fingered her rosary with superstitious precision, keeping her eyes low and praying, convinced that if she looked up and met even one set of eyes, it might break the trance MAP-11 had inspired, and they were too exposed to chance that.

  Chip, by contrast, stared the rebels full in the face, watching their solemn expressions as they looked up at MAP-11, shaking his head in quiet amazement. The soldiers k
neeled in surrender, some open-mouthed, others tight-lipped and grim, dropping their rifles sullenly as the creature stepped through the ranks. Still others fell prostrate, bending their heads low to the ground, praying to be spared. To a trigger-happy pessimist like Chip, none of it made sense.

  Tyco waved the team closer as the rebel ranks closed behind them, grouping them around MAP-11 in a tight semicircle. Now completely surrounded, they had no choice but to continue out into the crowd on the ice-thin hope that the rebels wouldn’t come to their senses. No one spoke for fear of breaking the spell.

  Shelley barely dared to breathe. He stepped quickly to keep up with MAP-11, trying to wend his way over and around the outstretched arms of the rebels underfoot. His foot slipped on the slick pavement and landed loudly, too near the outstretched gun arm of a kneeling rebel. The man looked up at Shelley and snarled, the muscles tensing all the way down his arms, but with a sullen look at MAP-11, he made no attempt to attack. Shelley stared, horrified and repulsed, at the sight of the savage man before him. He reached for his pistol, extending it slowly with a shaking hand, fully determined to shoot.

  Flip grabbed Shelley’s arm roughly and pulled him along.

  “Try to keep up, Doctor.” Flip said, through her teeth, keeping a firm grip on the pistol.

  “I can handle myself, girl.” He spat back and ripped his arm away, a little too loudly with too much force. The rebels within earshot looked up quickly, bristling at the sound of struggle. Hog gripped her machine gun tightly, waiting for the onslaught, but it did not come.

  The group had made its way to the bottom of the slope Flip had descended earlier, and Tyco broke out of cover from behind MAP-11. He turned cautiously past the checkpoint that marked the bottom of the long stone ramp leading up the hill, looking up towards the truck just visible in the creek bed at the top. Flip hadn’t lied; it was barely in one piece, but to Tyco, it could have been a tank. There were rebels on the hillside above as well, but not as many as below, on the plateau. If they could make it halfway up the hill, the numbers would be about even, and they would have a level chance of making it.

  “Not far now – “ Tyco tapped in quietly.

  He was interrupted by a massive explosion, larger by far than any that had come before. A shockwave rolled through the ground, shaking the team and nearly throwing them off their feet.

  Tyco turned as if stung, scanning the horizon for the source of the blast.

  He found it immediately, at the far end of the city: a small mushroom cloud, rising high into the sky. A tactical nuclear device. Not a large one, but enough to make things dicey in a hurry.

  “Guess the pregame’s over.” Chip griped, pushing steadily up the hill.

  But Shelley was stuck, rooted to the spot and staring at the mushroom cloud open-mouthed. He watched as the shockwave rippled out and smashed through the city, flattening everything in its path. He knew the theory, of course, understood it inside and out, but seeing it in unguarded practice left him breathless. His legs shook beneath him unsteadily, and he stared at the team as they continued nonchalantly up the hill, stared at MAP-11 as he backed towards them, moving as if none of them had seen the nuclear device in the near distance.

  “I’m going back.” He announced hoarsely, the image of the mushroom cloud still clear in his eyes. If the team heard him, they didn’t show it. Shelley gritted his teeth furiously. He held the pistol high overhead and pulled the trigger with spiteful emphasis.

  The hammer turned over with a dull click, never connecting with the bullet in the chamber. The safety was still on.

  Chip recognized the sound and shook his head derisively without looking back. He kept silent, heading up the hill. It was too late in the day for cutting remarks, and anyway he had nothing to say to a man who couldn’t fire a pistol. Not that Shelley was his responsibility in the first place.

  “Commander.” Shelley said, louder. “I know you hear me.” He waited for a response. Still it did not come. “We’re going back.”

  Tyco answered him without turning from his path. “It’s too late for that, Doctor.” He called out. “We’re past the point of return.”

  “I outrank you!” Shelley fired back. “You’re nothing but a grunt, cannon fodder, but I am vital to the interests of the Admiralty! One word from me, and you never existed!” He was beside himself now, in a dull panic, shaking and apoplectic with rage.

  Tyco turned to Shelley at last, smiling easily. “On paper,” He answered. “We already don’t. You’re on my ground, with my team, and we’re getting the hell out of this place.” He turned away, pressing on staunchly, willing Shelley to follow with everything he was worth.

  “No.” Shelley answered, his voice ringing out defiantly in the silence between impacts. “I won’t allow it.”

  Tyco’s face fell, and his remaining hope with it. The rebels stirred at his feet. Already frightened by the falling missiles, they didn’t have much to lose. Only MAP-11 kept them in place, and he stared them down now, sweeping his rifle over the hostile crowd, reminding them what they had to fear.

  The rebels fell silent, temporarily intimidated into submission. Tyco quickened his pace up the slope, waving the team onwards.

  “You hear me?” Shelley shouted, raising his voice. It cracked as he fought for breath. “I won’t allow it!”

  The team continued up the hill, following Tyco without looking at the meltdown behind them. MAP-11 was caught between the team and Shelley, swiveling his head from one to the other. For the first time since leaving the facility, he looked uncertain, moving slowly to keep pace with Tyco and his group. Flip alone stayed behind with the doctor, bringing up a nervous rearguard. She slipped the safety off of her rifle quietly, staring down at the silent ranks of rebels they had already waded through, making sure they stayed in place.

  Shelley watched the team walk away, his face contorting in fear as they left him at the mercy of the restless crowd. Shaking with desperate anger, he lowered his pistol, bringing it to rest against his temple. He turned bodily towards Tyco, forcing himself to ignore the restless rebels surrounding him.

  “I am Dr. Ethan Shelley.” He said, fighting for calm with every breath, and losing. “I am vital to this mission and to the Admiralty’s interests.” The words rang out grimly in the sudden, windless calm. “And I demand that we go back to safety now.” And then he added, more plaintively, “We have to go back!”

  Tyco paused and stared down at the frantic doctor, feeling the countdown running down, feeling the stares of a hundred rebel soldiers. They were within sight of the goal, had a fighting chance for the first time on this awful mission; and now the man they had been sent to save was throwing it all away. Chip laughed dully beside him, grimly amused by the hopeless absurdity of their situation.

  “Don’t worry, Cap,” He said, “He can’t work the safety – “

  Shelley flicked the switch in response, gripping the pistol barrel tightly. The gun was now live, their mission resting on the slightest nervous twitch of Shelley’s finger on the trigger.

  “Never mind.” Chip said quietly.

  Tyco’s face fell as he came face-to-face yet again with the ugly reality of human failing. “What’s the matter, Doc?” He said, trying hard to make light of the disaster below him. “Don’t think it’s worth it any more?”

  Shelley stared back hatefully and adjusted his grip, placing the barrel snugly against his temple. “No,” he said. “It’s worth too much to waste now on your reckless and idiotic leadership.”

  Tyco took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “And what do you think your superiors have to say about this at the Admiralty?” He said, condescendingly. “What do you think they’ll say when they hear your failure prevented us from finishing our mission? Because, make no mistake, we are getting out of here, with or without you.” The words had no effect, and Tyco took a deep breath, playing the last card he had available. “Look at him.” He said, and pointed at MAP-11. “He’s perfect, right? Your blameless crea
tion. He isn’t failing now.”

  Shelley hesitated only an instant before responding.

  “Incorrect.” He said, and pulled the microchip from his pocket with his free hand, holding it high into the air above him. “He cannot fail because he will do whatever I tell him to. And I say we turn back.” And he shifted the pistol to just below his chin. “Now.”

  “Come on, Doctor.” Tyco coaxed, trying to make the words sound anything but furiously condescending. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re right.” Shelley answered. “I don’t.” He lifted his pistol again, raising it and aiming directly at Tyco, his arm shaking as he extended it. The two men stared at each other across the short distance. Tyco’s jaw tightened, his hands tense and ready on his rifle. His eyes bored into Shelley’s skull, hard and uncompromising. Shelley took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m going to count to three, and then – “

  A muffled shot rang out, cutting Shelley off in mid-sentence. A small, thumb-sized hole appeared in his forehead, the blood dripping down across his face.

  He staggered, tottered, and then dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth in a groan, attempting to speak and coughing up blood instead. His knees gave way and he pitched forwards, slumping bodily onto the dust and grime of the highway.

  Flip stood over the body, gun smoking lazily. She looked up at Tyco with a thin smile on her face. “My mission never included him.” She explained casually, with a note of repressed triumph in her voice.

  NINETEEN: THE HOPELESS AND THE DAMNED

  “Your mission?” Tyco said in shocked confusion.

  Flip looked up as she kneeled over Shelley’s corpse, prying open his fists to reach their contents. She held his gaze steadily, staring back at him with the same calm killer’s eyes she had worn in the jump bay, and it was clear the inexperienced greenness she had shown had been little more than an act. “Need to know cuts both ways, Cap.” She said pointedly, and stood, holding Shelley’s pistol and microchip.