The Shadow Guard with the sword paused, confused, and looked to his laughing compatriot.
“Burn in hell, you Imperium fucks,” Lance said in English, with his own voice, through the mouth of the mind-controlled ninja, which surely came as a surprise, and then he opened fire. He worked the machinegun back and forth across the five of them, shredding the ninjas with heavy bullets. He massacred them all.
The real ninja was fighting, struggling, panicking, futilely trying to reclaim his body.
“You want it back?” Lance asked as he dropped the empty, smoking machine gun to the floor. He then forced the ninja to reach down and draw his sword. How was it the Imperium did it with their fancy ritual suicides? Right across the stomach to spill the guts? Bet that hurt. The sword arm trembled as the ninja struggled for control, but Lance wasn’t done yet. The sword pierced the ninja’s belly and Lance forced the ninja to push hard. It was so sharp there was hardly any resistance at all. Lance felt it. Felt it just like it had been his own body, and he relished in the fact that it hurt worse than he’d even imagined. The blade popped out the other side, and the ninja’s entrails tumbled out.
“It’s all yours.”
The Shadow Guard collapsed in a heap.
Lance let go of the hijacked mind and let his consciousness snap back.
His own body felt cold and empty in comparison. His magic was gone. Burned out forever in one final push.
Deep in the burning building, surrounded by a pile of dead Shadow Guard, Lance Talon closed his eyes and drifted off, dreaming about his family that he hadn’t seen in a very long time.
The sleek Imperium patrol boat roared toward the small Chinese craft. A teenage boy stood at the rear of the boat, his hands raised in a position of surrender. Surely blinded by the brilliant spotlights, he knew better than to try anything. The first boat had already pulled alongside. The men were preparing to board and search it.
Major Matsuoka spoke into the bullhorn. “You are under arrest. Do not resist or you will be shot.” The boy kept his head down, afraid. Matsuoka could not confirm this boat had come from beneath the target building, but it was possible. The boy would be taken in for torture and questioning. Just because he was young did not mean he was not a member of the terrorist resistance, and if he was merely an innocent bystander, then it didn’t really matter anyway, because he was only Chinese, and none of those could ever truly be innocent.
His pilot moved them alongside. The Chinese boat was trapped between the two much larger patrol boats. There was a third boat on over watch. There were several bolt-action rifles, submachine guns, and even a mounted machine gun on each patrol boat, all pointed down at the target. Resistance would be stupid, but experience told Matsuoka that just because something was stupid did not mean criminals would not try it anyway, especially the desperate ones. Matsuoka drew his pistol. “Be careful,” he ordered the men who were preparing to climb down.
Water droplets began to rise from the river. It was like rain . . . In reverse . . .
Suddenly, everything was wrong.
It happened too quickly to react. It was so confusing, so unnatural, that it took the major a few seconds to realize just what it was which had changed. Gravity. It was as if up and down had somehow changed direction. And in those seconds, he discovered that he was flying through the air.
The men who kept their wits opened fire, but gravity’s sudden change had caused the ships to lurch so violently that aiming was impossible. Someone below . . . above . . . snarled a curse as they were struck by a stray bullet.
And then it all came crashing back down.
Matsuoka hit the steel railing hard enough to break a rib. The whole patrol boat shuddered as it landed with a whump, displacing water in every direction. Many of the men went splashing into the water, and a few unlucky ones hit the metal boats. His Nambu went sliding over the side. The spotlights careened wildly in differing directions.
There was a scream. He looked over to see that one of his men had burst into flames. He was thrashing around, batting at his clothing, but that only seemed to make it worse, and then the man dove overboard. The major turned the other way to shout an order at the radio operator, but he had turned white, no, blue, and seemed to be trying to peel his hands off of his frosted metal equipment.
The tarp on the tiny boat was ripped aside and a young Caucasian man lifted a machine pistol and ripped off an entire magazine in one burst. The men twitched and jerked as they were struck. Then that entire patrol boat was engulfed in flames.
Wincing at the horrible pain in his side, Matsuoka got up. Since they’d all been lifted and splashed back down a bit off to the side, the patrol boat that was supposed to be covering them did not have a shot at the smaller boat. He waved his hands over head, trying desperately to get their attention. That little boat needed to be strafed now.
There was a thud next to him. Matsuoka looked over, and up and up, at the very large man who had just landed next to him. A stubby British revolver was stuck under Matsuoka’s nose, and a giant hand grabbed him by the uniform coat and lifted him off his feet.
“You speak English?”
Matsuoka didn’t answer. The covering boat gunned its engine. It was coming over to get a better view of what was happening.
“Hang on,” said the giant, and then he smashed Matsuoka in the face with the revolver.
He hit the deck, head swimming. The giant went over to the prow, took hold of the mounted machine gun’s spade grips and swiveled it in the direction of the approaching patrol boat. The machine gun roared. A line of orange tracers was worked back and forth across the approaching craft. They tried to return fire, but the giant was methodical, quickly walking his bullets directly into the muzzle flashes until they were out, and then back. He continued. On and on. Ripping the other boat apart, making sure that it was no longer a threat. He finally stopped when the other patrol boat’s fuel tank ignited and it coasted to a stop.
Matsuoka shook his aching head, spotted a discarded Arisaka rifle, and crawled toward it, but the giant came over and stepped on his hand. “Not so fast.” He lifted the revolver and fired a single round. The pilot, who appeared to be frozen to the deck, flopped over with a hole in his head. The giant reached down, picked up one end of a rope and tossed it to the smaller boat. “Barns, grab this. We’re taking this boat.”
“You will never get away with this,” Matsuoka spat.
“Oh, I am.” The giant casually pointed the revolver at Matsuoka. “And you do speak English, then. So first you’re gonna tell me what’s going down.”
They did not look like brothers. That was to be expected, since the Chairman had known the affections of so many different concubines over his many decades. Rumor had it that some of the thousand brothers were not even from Japanese mothers, but Toru had never actually met one. Hayate was as small and thin as Toru was tall and broad. He was also twenty years Toru’s senior, and had spent every single day of that training, teaching, fighting, or otherwise serving the Imperium. He was First Shadow Guard, singled out as the pinnacle of his secretive order.
It was a great honor to face such an opponent . . .
Yet, his father’s mission had to come first. That was all that mattered.
“Hear my words, Hayate. The man you serve is not really our father. He is an imposter. Master Dosan Saito has usurped his place. He is in league with the Enemy.”
Hayate smiled. “They had said that all of the bloodshed during the occupation had driven you insane . . . I can see now that they were correct. Spare me, Toru. I am familiar with your delusions. The report you gave to the newsman was sent to military intelligence for analysis. I read it and I was filled with an incredible sadness. To see one with so much potential fall so very far . . . You are quite mad.”
“It is the truth! Master Saito has corrupted the dreams of Dark Ocean.”
The First Shadow Guard looked over the blood dripping from the tetsubo. “You are like a mad dog. You are rabid, Toru. And
you know what must be done to rabid dogs.”
“Do not do this, Hayate.”
“They must be put down . . .I volunteered for this duty, though I must admit I was not expecting you to be so well armed. I had been hoping to look in your eyes when I took your life with my sword, face to face, man to man, brother to brother . . . warrior to warrior.”
His body was squeezed between steel plates, and bending at the waist was extremely difficult, but Toru managed to will the Nishimura armor to give a respectful bow.
“I doubt that I would be successful in talking you into taking off that armor.”
“You would be correct.”
“Luckily, I am a firm believer in being prepared for the unexpected.” Hayate clapped his hands. A masked Shadow Guard with a huge tube resting over one shoulder stepped around the far corner. A blue glow radiated from the end of the tube. Toru did not recognize the weapon, but it seemed similar to one of the magical anti-tank weapons he’d seen Unit 731 experimenting with. That one had been powered by magic ripped from the flesh of Boomer subjects . . . Using such a device inside this enclosed space would be suicidal.
But they were Imperium. Suicide was all in a day’s work.
“Farewell, Toru.” Hayate Traveled away as the remaining Shadow Guard fired the device.
* * *
“The safe house is burning,” Lady Origami shouted to be heard over the engines. “I can feel it.”
“Hell,” Sullivan muttered, but there was nothing they could do about it yet. She could sense it with her magic, but the rest of them were able to see the growing orange glow against the night sky a moment later. There was nothing they could do. Barns was driving the boat hard, and they were launching over the top of each wave and crashing back down, casting a huge plume of water into the air behind them. The patrol boat was fast, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough.
They rounded a bend in the river. The safe house came into view on the other side of the docks. The whole upper half was wreathed in flames, and there were shapes moving along all of the cobbled together walkways surrounding it. Giant shadows created by other patrol boats’ spotlights showed that the shadows were cast by soldiers carrying rifles. There were at least three other patrol boats between them and the fire. Barns reached for the throttle to slow their approach.
“Hold on,” Sullivan ordered. They were running dark. The spotlights were off. “The Japs will think we’re one of them until they get close.”
Barns took a deep breath. “If you say so.”
Zhao put his hand on Barn’s shoulder and pointed through the windscreen. “Head for that freighter.”
“The rusty, listing one?”
“Yes. It has been stuck in the mud for years. If any of our friends escaped through the flooded lower floors, the path out will take them under the docks to the side of that freighter.”
The other patrol boats hadn’t turned the spotlights on them yet. Come on. Sullivan could only pray that some of the knights had made it out. As swarming with Imperium as this place was, if they didn’t get out fast, they never would. One of the patrol boats must have spotted them because a spotlight swung their way, skipping across the water. Once they were made, there wasn’t much they could do against that many riflemen along the shore. They’d have to leave the survivors and make a run for it. Damn it.
Suddenly the whole top half of the apartment building exploded in a blue flash.
“What the hell?” Barns shouted.
Debris flew in every direction. One particularly large fireball shot out the side of the buildingwith kicking legs and windmilling arms. It was a huge, armored figure, wreathed entirely in blue flames.
“Toru . . .”
The flaming, armored Iron Guard crashed through another building with a terrible racket. A split second later their apartment building made an even worse noise as the upper floors collapsed into the lower, pancaking the whole thing down in a gigantic inferno. A huge cloud of smoke and dust welled outward across the docks.
At least the other patrol boat wasn’t looking at them anymore.
“Head for that freighter,” Sullivan said. “This is our only shot.” Dozens of Imperium troops were already converging on the spot Toru had landed in. That building had caught fire as well. There wasn’t a damn thing they could do for Toru now. If he’d even lived through that explosion, and the fall hadn’t finished him off, then the fire or the Imperium troops would.
Barns killed the engine and let them drift toward the freighter.
“They’ll be coming out over there,” Zhao pointed at a spot in the black muck beneath the crumbling stone.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Sullivan told the others, as he walked toward the back of the patrol boat.
The Imperium copper was there, shackled to the rail with his own handcuffs. Sullivan didn’t know how to read the Japanese police rank insignia, but this one had been wearing the fanciest uniform, and that usually meant they were in charge. Sullivan pulled the rag out of his mouth, and the Jap gasped for breath. Sullivan knelt next to him. “I’m gonna make this quick. How many safe houses did you hit?”
“Go to hell, Grimnoir.”
Sullivan reached up and broke the cop’s pinky finger. “Try again.”
The Jap grimaced but did not speak or cry out.
Zhao had joined him. The kid seemed totally unmoved by the Imperium man’s plight. Many of his men had been in that safe house. If anything, Zhao would have even less mercy. “Do you want me to freeze him?”
“I got this.” Sullivan pried loose the next finger and broke it too.
“Gah.” The cop ground his teeth together.
Sullivan broke another.
“Three. We knew of three hideouts.”
Shit. Sullivan looked at Zhao. There were only four in total. This was bad.
“Who sold us out?” Zhao demanded.
Sullivan took up the next finger.
“A fat brute. Pang.”
Zhao gasped. “No. You lie.”
“It is not the first time. He has been an informant for years.”
“I’ll kill him,” Zhao snarled.
“He is already dead. Master Hayate was disgusted by his disloyalty. Fat Pang is dead, like you soon will be.”
Barns gave a sharp, attention-grabbing whistle. “Got somebody swimming.” He whistled again. “Hey! Over here. Ori, grab that life preserver.”
Sullivan breathed a sigh of relief. At least somebody had made it. The other boats were distracted by the destruction, so they might still be able to get out of here.
“I demand to be released. I am Major Matsuoka of the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu. My men will—”
“Wait. Your name is Matsuoka?” Zhao asked slowly. Sullivan shuddered. It was like all the natural warmth had just been sucked from the air. “Major Matsuoka?”
“Yes. I am the commander of the Second Sector Garrison. You will free me or face terrible consequences.”
Sullivan could feel the sudden Power draw in the air. “You’re the one who had my mother and father tortured.” It dropped ten degrees in an instant. “You’re the one who ordered their execution.” The air got colder. “You’re the one who had their bodies . . .” colder. “hung on a bridge for the whole city to see.”
So very cold.
Matsuoka began shaking uncontrollably.
There was a sphere of terrible, piercing, life-sucking cold, and it was directed at the secret policeman. Matsuoka’s skin was turning blue. “You put up a sign. You called them traitors. Enemies of the people, it said. The sign encouraged everyone to throw rocks at the bodies. And people did, because that is what traitors deserve . . .”
Sullivan was shivering. The policeman’s skin was starting to pucker and crystalize. He thought about just pulling the Webley and putting a bullet into the man. It didn’t make tactical sense to waste Zhao’s valuable Power, simply because they might be needing every bit they could scrape up if they got spotted and had to fight their way out, but then aga
in, sometimes you just had to get your personal business out of the way. He looked to Zhao. “Don’t let him start screaming, because I don’t want the attention.”
“Do not worry.” Zhao’s brows were knit in concentration. “He won’t.”
The policeman looked to Sullivan, eyes pleading, but only steam was coming out of his open mouth. Blood turned to slush and froze in his veins. Then the water in his eyes turned to ice and his eyeballs cracked.
“All yours, kid.” Sullivan walked away.
The air was considerably warmer at the front of the boat, but Sullivan remained chilled to the bone. He counted four heads bobbing on the water, all of them holding onto a life preserver or each other as Barns hauled them in. Sullivan took hold of the rope too and dragged them in faster. It was three men from the Traveler and one of Zhao’s men. The first one pulled into the boat was young Mike Willis. He’d been shot and had one hand pressed to his side. Blood was coming from between his fingers.
“Where’s everybody else?” Sullivan asked.
“We’re it,” the knight gasped. “Five of us made it to the bottom. Mottl got stuck in the tunnel and drowned . . . I couldn’t pull him out in time. There wasn’t anybody behind us.”
“Lance?”
He shook his head. “Just me, Genesse, Simmons, and Yip.”
“Hell . . .” Sullivan looked to the giant funeral pyre, but there was no hope to be found there. The smoke was stinging his eyes.
There was a crack at the back of the boat as Zhao kicked the superchilled handcuffs and the chain snapped in two, then a splash as the frozen policeman rolled into the river.
They’d have to regroup. Figure out how bad they’d been hit . . . But he feared the answer. Was there any coming back from this? “Barns, get us out of here.”
Art to come
Toru explosion
Chapter 17
If I only had to fight one enemy, this war would already be won. Instead I have the Kaiser’s zombies and wizards on one front and your wife and her blasted devil monk on the other. I do not care how strong his magic or how true his prophecies. He is a malignant growth on the Motherland and if you do not remove him then I will find someone who will. You are aware of what the men with the black rings would do if they learned of his abominable experiments.
Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 32