Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “If you want to play, you might want to go out in the yard,” Red suggested. “Sun’s out, there’s fresh air, and we brought enough firepower to beat even you into the dirt.”

  “Tempting,” Barron sighed. “But I cannot. At least for the moment. My duty denies my departure just yet. I must see our parting gift off before I enter the fray.”

  “You know we can’t let that happen,” Vickie said, drawing her weapons.

  “Your needs are irrelevant,” Barron shrugged. “You cannot hope to defeat me. I doubt your efforts would even entertain.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Red replied. “We might surprise you.”

  Barron glared at him, and then chuckled. She drew herself up to her full height, and opened her arms in invitation. “Very well, surprise me.”

  “Go!” Red shouted, darting right as Vickie dove to the left. Splitting up was the only chance they had for at least one of them to outflank her, to get to the doomsday device and somehow disable it before it launched its payload. But as fast as they were, Barron was faster. With a contemptuous flick of her head, she fired a burst of heat from her visor, slamming Red back into the wall. He collapsed, his body sizzling with heavy burns. Barron stepped lightly to her right, and leveled a heavy kick at Vickie. Vickie cursed and ducked into a roll, landing gracefully on her feet before leaping back. She felt a rush of air as Barron’s claws whistled over her head.

  “Disappointing,” Barron purred. “This will not take long at all.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  * * *

  Running on the Rocks

  Mercedes Lackey, Dennis Lee, Cody Martin and Veronica Giguere

  “Uh-oh.”

  Ramona whipped her head around to see what Merc was looking at. Uh-oh was not the sort of thing you want to hear over your radio in the middle of a pitched battle. She shifted the rocket launcher on her shoulder and eyed the burning remnants of the Thulian forest. Something smaller than a Krieger tore through the smoldering underbrush, making a beeline for the line of metas and soldiers holding the line on the platforms.

  Whatever it was, it had no intention of slowing down. “I don’t have a visual, so more words would be great.”

  “Placing the last two. I’m gonna share my visual, might be faster.” The azure-white blur of her speedster zipped down from the ridge and back behind the rail guns, then streaked back along the perimeter of the fire. With most of the jungle reduced to cinders, the ECHO snipers could provide better support from strategic positions leading up to the facility. Eight had mapped out the best locations, and Merc had set up the remaining soldiers in the appropriate places.

  The edges of her HUD became fuzzy, then partitioned her view into her own and Mercurye’s. He focused on the basin beneath the ridge while he ran, the image blurring at regular intervals as he checked his own path to the last location. Ramona scowled and tried to make out the shapes beneath the burning trees. Something dark moved through the fires toward the ridge, then stopped and surged forward. Tree limbs and broken Thulian armor spewed from the edge of the forest, revealing a battered feminine figure in a tattered leather uniform. The woman snarled and screamed, and Ramona had a moment of indescribable panic.

  She lay still as the metahuman woman stood over her to gloat. “America has grown fat and complacent,” Valkyria said. “You should have chosen your allies more carefully, darling.”

  Years of civilian training and a new life as a metahuman operative did little to erase the memory of being shot by the Nazi supersoldier who had aided in the search for Eisenfaust in the days after the Invasion began. Ramona ground her teeth and tightened her grip on the rocket launcher, waiting for Merc’s visual to align with hers.

  “Newcombe’s in position. Coming back to…uh-oh.” The feeds showed opposite perspectives of the same woman, surrounded by dying Thulians. In an instant, the view from Mercurye blurred and disappeared, and the speedster raced back down to stand at the edge of the forest. He skidded to a stop as some of the fallen Kriegers struggled to their hands and knees in defense of their commanding officer.

  Valkyria continued to shriek and howl, her unintelligible words seeming to call the last bits of strength and loyalty from the nearly dead Thulians. They clawed at the ground, reaching for broken weapons and burning chunks of debris to hurl at those on the front lines. Ramona felt her skin harden in response, but she had nothing left to counter the attack. With all of the snipers placed, the plan was for Merc to bring another case of shells to continue their assault.

  “Check the other platforms! I need those shells two minutes ago, please.” Ramona steeled herself and held her ground as Valkyria directed those around her to move forward. She could trust Merc to get the case to her in time, even to load the first shell in seconds to fire. Without armor to protect her, the Nazi soldier wouldn’t last a minute coated in thermite. One shot, and she would be able to move forward and continue the offensive outside of the city.

  But Merc didn’t respond.

  “Rick, you’ve got to find a different path and get over here! I’m completely out!” It took tremendous effort to keep her tone to an authoritative bark rather than a panicked wail. “Move your ass, soldier!”

  “Move. Understood.” Mercurye answered her with an ice-cold tone, the words clipped and efficient. Before she could question his reply, he shot toward her at top speed, his teeth bared in a very un-Merc-like smile.

  At that exact moment, Valkyria let loose a bloodcurdling scream and thrust a hand forward. Her growing army followed her command, driven by some base desire to serve until their dying breaths, and began to progress toward the platforms. Those who fell and did not rise were crushed under the boots of those who gained strength and followed the command of their mistress. She stepped clear of the fire, eyes wild with bloodlust, her gaze coming to rest on Ramona.

  “Steel Maiden, pivot forty-five degrees left and kneel on my count,” Eight chirped quietly in her ear. The words provided a sense of grounding and she obeyed, trusting that Vickie’s designee wouldn’t let them down. “Three, two, brace, mark.”

  At the last word, she felt her carapace thicken and harden along her exposed side. Something collided with her metal-sheathed shoulder and upper arm, but Ramona maintained her balance as it fell to the side. It coughed and wheezed, but didn’t get back up. She stood and glanced down at the platform. Mercurye curled into a ball, struggling to catch his breath. Blood streamed from his lip and one shoulder hung at a strange angle. He tilted his head back and groaned. “She’s…mad. Crazy, and mad. She’ll make you that way too, if you’re not careful.” He spat a bit of blood and curled tighter. “That’s at least three broken ribs. Freakin’ hurts, but better than a bullet.”

  Ramona nodded, not liking what she would have to do next. “Yes, and so is this. Preemptive apology, handsome.” With one metal-clad fist, she socked him hard enough in the jaw to knock him unconscious. He sagged to the metal grate, now unable to fall prey to any more Nazi mind tricks.

  Of course, this meant having to get the thermite grenades herself. “Eight, locations of the remaining grenades? We do have some left, right?”

  “Affirmative. Two cases will be delivered to your position.” Eight showed the projected delivery route, an aerial path that originated from a cache behind the rail guns. Nearly half had gone silent, casualties of the assault. Just behind the original shield boundary, Valkyria had started to gather some of the ECHO forces unlucky enough to be within her telempathic proximity. They took occasional shots at the platforms, but Valkyria’s bloodlust kept them from being too accurate.

  A familiar silhouette cast a shadow on the platform. “Special delivery, love. Little bird said you could do some damage with a few of these.” Corbie set the first case down and did a double take at the sight of the unconscious speedster. “On the outs with your bloke, eh? I suppose good looks only get a man so far with a career woman.”

  Ramona laughed in spite of herself. “It’s for his own good. Take him back; he
’s got a few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and a concussion. Tell the rest of them to give that Nazi bitch a wide berth if they don’t want to be turned against their own.” She made a face at an oozing patch of wing with singed feathers. “You be careful, too.”

  “As much as I can be.” Corbie hefted Mercurye into his arms and took off, straining to clear the platform. He lurched to the side to avoid a smoking turret on his way to one of the frigates in the support fleet.

  With a fresh supply of thermite grenades, Ramona loaded the rocket launcher and took aim at the woman standing at the rear of her newfound army. Valkyria scowled and pointed a leather-clad arm in her direction. The corner of her mouth quirked up in deadly amusement. As one, the desperate legion turned to obey their mistress.

  Does she remember? She can’t remember, Ramona thought. Besides, Ramona Ferrari is dead. Again, she realized with an inappropriate giggle. Was it okay to laugh at Death if it didn’t know you were really alive?

  Ramona shrugged, drew a long breath, and took aim. She wasn’t one to wax philosophic anyway. She braced herself, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger.

  Black leather became liquid silver for an exquisite second before Valkyria burst into flames. Those surrounding her fell to the ground, dead or dazed. The metahuman tried to leap into the air, but the motion sent her forward, burning flesh curling off of her body in waves of liquid fire. Ramona felt her throat tighten and her gorge rise, but she reloaded with a new grenade and focused her attention on the few Kriegers that continued to emerge from the trees. This battle was far from over, and worse things could come from within the secret world of the Thulians.

  * * *

  Red Saviour, behind a rank of Kirill copies in their armor, watched Boryets advance in the front rank of his repainted Supernaut minions. They were all, including Boryets, decked out in new colors—a red camouflage scheme, to match the now-wilting jungle.

  It looked like blood splatters—old, black, dried blood; brownish aging blood; and bright red fresh blood overlaying each other. Fitting colors for murderers, Natalya thought.

  “Commissar…” Unter began, as she pushed past a couple of Proletariat’s Supernaut suits—properly clad in Soviet scarlet with a gold star on their chests. “…You should—”

  “I have a plan,” she said shortly over the radio, so he and everyone else could hear it, and emerged from the group of giant robotic suits to stand, fists on her hips, in full view of the traitor. “So, murderer, you actually dare to show your cowardly face? I am surprised.”

  The CCCP channel erupted with curses, and the Allied Forces channel with objections to her action. “Comrade Eight,” she ordered. “Filter channels for what I can actually use.”

  “Absolutely, Commissar,” Eight replied obediently. She smiled, a very little. It was good to have at least one person—was that even the right word for the entity?—on her side who obeyed direct orders. The noise immediately died down, with only relevant messages coming through.

  “You should not have come here, girl.” Boryets’ face was stone; his eyes, fixed on Natalya, didn’t seem to acknowledge any of the other soldiers arrayed against him. “You will die here, for nothing. Men, prepare to—”

  “FIRE!” Natalya dropped down into a crouch, her hands out in front of her. Twin blasts of energy rent through the air at Boryets. The rest of her troops opened fire as one, with rockets, bullets, plasma blasts, and jets of napalm cutting into the Supernaut ranks. Troopers fell in the initial volley, with several of the suits detonating when their napalm tanks were breached. Boryets took the entire barrage, unmoving, still watching Natalya. There was a hint of sadness there for the barest moment, and then it was gone. The Supernaut troopers quickly broke formation, spreading out to the side streets.

  “All units, pursue and engage! Do not let them flank around! I will be handling Boryets.”

  Everyone snapped to, running to fight the traitor Supernauts and Thulians. She watched all of the dots on her HUD as they flooded the nearby streets, stopping when they encountered the enemy. They had the momentum, and better coordination via Overwatch. The Supernaut soldiers did not fare well. She couldn’t focus on those fights; she had a more urgent matter to attend to. The rest of the battle was advancing as expected: completely chaotic. Most of the unit commanders were on top of their situations, however, and with Eight acting as a switchboard and quasi-commander, only the most pressing tactical decisions needed to be made by her. Whatever happened, she needed to end things with Boryets quickly, so she could get back to her real task.

  “So, this is how you wish for it to end? So be it.” Boryets took a step towards her. She barked out a laugh, causing Boryets to pause for a moment.

  “How long have you been the Thulians’ pet whore, old man?” She had switched to Russian, pouring extra venom into her words. Cursing in English didn’t have the same oomph to it, as the Americans said.

  A flicker of anger crossed Boryets’ face. Good. “I have been working with them since just before the war ended. They—”

  “Speak Russian, you pathetic bastard! Or have you grown so senile you’ve forgotten your mother tongue?”

  He started walking towards her again, his hands balling into fists. “I will not tolerate your insults further, girl,” he replied in Russian. “They showed me what would happen to the world if we did not steer it, together. Hitler would have ended everything in a nuclear fire, near the end. We stopped that.”

  Natalya sniffed, sneering at him. “You weakling. Licking the palms of the greatest enemy of mankind, and that is all of your justification?”

  He was closer now, still coming towards her unhurriedly. “You are blinded by ideology, child. Your idiot father’s fault; he didn’t have the stomach to face the reality we were presented, either.” That shook Natalya, though she didn’t give Boryets the satisfaction of showing it. He knew? For all of those years…and he did nothing? “Like you, he lost himself in the stupid dream of a socialist future, of Russian supremacy against America. With open eyes, any fool could see that you don’t put a starving dog against a pack of wolves. That was us against America, and capitalism. That is the world against the Masters,” he continued, shaking his head. “You think that this attack is anything but an annoyance to them? With their technology, they can reduce the entire Earth to a cinder. Standing against that is suicide. The only choice, Natalya, is to work towards something where humanity survives.”

  Boryets was almost to her. Just a few seconds longer…

  “Survive as slaves, maybe. And certainly not all of us; your betrayals have seen to that, coward. But so long as you live to ‘save’ the world, it doesn’t matter, no? Your reason fled you long before your powers began to.”

  “That is enough!” He roared at her. “If I do not stop you here, if we do not drive you back, everything is over. They will destroy everything, rather than let you even begin to threaten them.”

  “You could have helped us, traitor. That is, if you had anything resembling a spine. Or manhood. Or your mind. As senile as you are, it must be child’s play to manipulate you.”

  Boryets was almost close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she took a step. He raised an arm; he was going to kill her with a punch, as he had with Molotok. His gaze dripped murder…and then he stopped. Immediately the rage was replaced with confusion. He swayed on his feet for a moment, then collapsed to a knee, dropping his arm to catch himself. Mamona emerged from an alleyway behind Natalya, focusing intently on Boryets.

  He tried to rise, his eyes going from Natalya to Mamona; the anger had returned. Just as it looked as if he’d get to his feet, he collapsed to the ground again, vomiting. Retching, he crawled forward on his hands and knees through his own sick. Agonizingly slow, he managed to get back to his feet. “Tricks won’t save you,” he growled through gritted teeth. Again his arm rose back, the massive bare fist clenched and huge like a wrecking ball. A thin, pale, bare hand snaked up behind Boryets’ shoulder, caressing the fist.
Natalya watched as the light around Boryets dimmed slightly; the hand traced Boryets’ arm down to the shoulder, where the hand gripped the bare flesh through his torn uniform. His arm fell, and he was firmly pushed to his knees by the hand.

  Thea, her normally milky white skin flushed pink and red, her eyes blazing with an inner fire and energy, rested her other bare hand on Boryets’ other shoulder, holding him down. He tried to grab at her, but his hands trembled and fell uselessly back to his sides.

  “You see, Uncle, this is true strength. You thought that since you alone weren’t strong enough to fight the Thulians, that no one was. No one could be. I learned much from you. I am glad that I learned that you could be wrong, and that comrades, true comrades, are stronger together than anyone alone could ever be. And that when we stand together, the weakest of us has the strength of an army.”

  Soviette appeared from the same alleyway that Mamona had stepped out of. She walked up to Boryets and placed her hand on his forehead. “And I have learned much, so much, from Amerikanski healer Belladonna, old man,” the Russian woman said dispassionately. “Enough to remove the only thing that made you great.” He shuddered, and seemed to shrink; he didn’t move away from her touch, however. Soviette removed her hand, her brow sweating. Her powers were usually used to heal and help a body’s systems recover; doing the opposite took quite a lot out of her. She retrieved a scalpel from a belt pouch, using it to cut Boryets’ cheek under his left eye. A thin rivulet of blood spread from the cut, following the wrinkles of the old man’s face. It was the first time Natalya had ever seen Boryets bleed.

  His invulnerability…was gone. At least for a time.

  Soviette turned to Natalya. “It’s done.” She stepped back out of the way, replacing the scalpel and unholstering a pistol.