Generation Z (Book 6): The Queen Unchained

by Meredith, Peter

  The Guardians began to shoot at them. “No!” Mike yelled over the roar of guns and the rippling explosions. “The ships! Go for the ships!”

  A squadron of Corsairs had finally stumbled into Mike’s trap and had put themselves squarely between the guns of Alcatraz and the Floating Fortress, each much closer than they had been expecting. The sixteen hundred feet between them had shrunk down to twelve hundred.

  For the moment, the torpedoes were ignored and the dark ships were raked mercilessly. Twenty-three ships were caught in the crossfire. A few burst into flame; others crashed into each other, and some were abandoned altogether. The captains that kept their heads decided to make a run out of the kill zone, letting the wind carry them away as fast as possible.

  These ran directly into the heavy rope and came to an abrupt standstill. Mike could hear the captains screaming orders even as they were caught in a withering crossfire. Decks were cleared of the living in seconds and blood ran down the sides of the boats like rain.

  The torpedoes from the other boats gave them a slight respite. They ate up the last shreds of netting on the east side and struck the barge like a series of hammer blows. Compared to the 600-pound warheads of modern torpedoes, the thirty-pound homemade explosives were not powerful, but striking like they did in quick succession, cracked the hull of the barge like an eggshell, causing a fifty-foot long seam to open up. Black bay water rushed in and the Fortress began to list violently in that direction.

  “Don’t let up!” Commander Walker bellowed over the sound of the fight. “Fire low!”

  The soldiers redoubled their efforts to destroy the ships caught in Mike’s trap. Any boat that managed to turn itself around was shredded to pieces.

  To save the ships caught along the line, the Corsairs sent in forty ships, each releasing a torpedo and a hail of bullets. With the bay lit up by the burning boats, they could see their target perfectly. Ten torpedoes cleared away the last of the nets and the rest of the torpedoes came in unimpeded.

  More nets were called for, but anyone who stood to throw them were hit by a dozen rounds at once. Their armor stopped most of the bullets, but one or two always managed to find a crease or a neck or a face.

  As the torpedoes struck, the barge began to rock and shimmy. Those who were standing were thrown off their feet. Mike found himself flat on his face and felt as well as heard as the barge let out an immense moan as if she were in pain. The metal shuddered beneath him.

  The Fortress was dying and so too were her defenders. The list had become so pronounced that the Corsair bullets were no longer hitting flat surfaces and bouncing away. The ricocheting bullets were now angled downward, and they bounced back and forth from one container to another until they hit something softer than metal. Casualties began to mount.

  Undaunted, the Guardians fought back with Walker screaming, “Send these demons back to hell, boys! Fire low!” He directed them to fire as a unit, targeting one ship at a time until it was nothing but a shredded hulk. Ship after ship was destroyed before he was killed. A heavy round pierced his armor and he died choking on blood with Mike uselessly trying to stick a bandage down into his chest.

  His XO tried to rally the troops but was killed only seconds later by a perfect headshot.

  The men fought on as the barge’s list started the steel containers sliding to the east side of the barge. Mike was on one that toppled over and for three terrifying minutes, he was pinned between a pair of the containers. Water began to swirl around his ankles and calves and then his knees before there was a crash of metal.

  Starlight flooded over him. He leapt for the edge of the container and climbed up to a world that had changed dramatically in those three minutes. Smoke continued to roil across the surface of the bay, but it was less than it had been and he was able to see that the bay was littered with burning ships and floating carcasses. The barge was half under water by then and there was no saving it.

  “Abandon ship!” he cried. “Everyone off, now!”

  Even though the barge wasn’t going to last much longer, there wasn’t a great rush to leap into the bay. Most of the men were dead or seriously wounded. Those left alive did not relish a leap into freezing water while fully clothed and wearing thirty pounds of armor. A handful dove in and struggled toward the nearest hulk of a Corsair ship that was slowly sinking fifty yards off the northern edge of the barge.

  The rest of the Corsair fleet had sailed off to the east. They’d had their fill of the Guardians and would wait until the barge had slipped beneath the water to come back and kill off the survivors.

  After a few minutes, Mike was alone on the barge. An escape hadn’t been planned for. Everyone who had volunteered had known they would either defend the Floating Fortress or die trying. Still Mike could barely breathe. Once again, he had led men into battle and once again they had died by the dozens. And those that had lived wouldn’t last much longer.

  If they didn’t drown or get shot, the cold would kill them quickly enough. Mike knew the same fate awaited him. With his torn-up arm, swimming was out of the question and he had already made up his mind that he would go down with the ship. It was what losing captains did. It was both a punishment and an honor.

  “Sorry Jenn,” he whispered.

  As if invoking her name was the final straw, the center of gravity suddenly shifted on the barge, Mike was flung off the top edge of the highest container and fell forty feet into the icy black water.

  Chapter 34

  San Francisco Bay

  The great black hunk of twisted metal that had once been the Floating Fortress bobbed in the water, looking like a giant tombstone rather than a barge. All around it were the remnants of a lost battle: corpses, bits of people, torn and burnt sails, and blood like an oil slick collecting on the top of the swells.

  There were even a couple of cargo containers, slowly settling as the air in them bubbled out and water rushed in.

  Clinging to one of them was Mike Gunter. He had lost his gun in the fall and was now struggling to get out of his coat. It was a chore since he only had the use of one crippled arm. He was so feeble that the zipper seemed to be welded into position and it took all his strength to move it an inch.

  He kept trying. Going down with the ship had a certain heroic sadness to it. Drowning because his coat was too heavy was just stupid. Finally, he got it off. Looking around at the debris, he called out, “Is anyone there?” The only answer was the gurgling bubbles as a wave washed over his container and nearly pulled him from it.

  Mike was not alone, however. A quarter mile away, swarming like a cloud of angry bees, was the Corsair fleet. Things had clearly not gone their way and once the barge sank, they’d be back to pick through the wreckage and woe to anyone they found alive.

  Even with two good arms, there’d be no out-swimming them. “Still gotta try,” Mike said, kicking off his shoes. He took a breath and pushed off from the container, deciding to go with a back stroke that was more of a back float than anything else. It was the only way to stay above water without attracting too much attention.

  On his third sad little stroke, his hand hit something and when he glanced over at it and saw what it was, he actually moaned, not in physical pain, but in spiritual pain. His hand had hit the rope that was still attached to the barge. Mike stared at it in misery, realizing that here was a way to escape. He had let seven or eight men drown because he had been too stupid to see what was right in front of his face.

  He wanted to scream in rage. He wanted to kick himself. He wanted to let go of the rope and drown. But he did none of these things. His was still a life that he could dedicate to killing Corsairs. In his mind, he hadn’t been saved because of his love for Jenn or her love for him. No, all of that was drowned in black despair. The only reason he could think of that he was alive was to exact revenge. He was alive so he could atone for his short-sightedness.

  Apathetic to everything, he hooked his legs around the rope and heaved his injured arm over it before
breaking out his knife. The rope vibrated beneath his hand as the barge took on more and more water. As it sank, so did the rope. Mike had trouble caring. He sawed away at the rope and had only his head above the surface when it jerked twice beneath him and then snapped.

  He was dragged for thirty yards as if the rope was attached to a speed boat, then it slipped from his grip and he rolled in the water.

  The end of the rope was not far away, lying in the swell like an endless snake. Mike swam for it and grabbed the end just as the Islanders began pulling again. He was hauled through the remains of the Corsair ships that had fallen into his trap. It was a floating graveyard of half-sunken ships. Among the corpses were a few survivors clinging to anything that hadn’t yet sunk. Most were bleeding and all of them were in a state of blue-lipped shock.

  They stared at Mike and he stared back. Then he was through and slipping across the water towards the island. The closer he got to it, the more his shame built up and it was all he could do to hold on. Would they think he had hidden like a frightened child while the real men fought and died? Would they call him a coward? Would Jenn look at him the same?

  When he was finally dragged to the rock wall ringing the island, he couldn’t raise his head and didn’t see the look of surprise on the faces of those who had been hauling on the rope. They had no idea a person was attached to the end.

  They immediately pummeled him with questions:

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  “What happened?”

  “How many did you get?”

  “Did we win?”

  When he was hauled up over the fence, he could only answer, “I don’t know,” over and over. It was a lie to some of the questions and the truth to others, but he didn’t care.

  The Queen had watched the battle from her customary spot on the roof. When the Floating Fortress began to sink and the firing stopped, she realized that the night crow had not been wrong. It had spoken of death, and death had come.

  Stunned, she left the roof and went down to stand with the crowd by the docks. She was broken inside, hurting beyond anything she could express and yet she was still queen. As much as she wanted to go down into the darkest part of the prison and cry her eyes out, she thought it was important that she be seen.

  Hearing the commotion, which was part anguish and part strange excitement, she went to see for herself. It was dark and the person in the center of the crowd was sopping wet but despite all that she thought she was looking at Mike. The only feeling she had was that of nausea. She was sure that her mind was torturing her.

  The two stared at each other in a way they had never done before. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, while she kept trying to tell herself that this wasn’t her Mike.

  “Sorry,” he finally said.

  It was his voice, but filled with such pain! “Sorry about what?”

  He struggled to answer this. For being so stupid! was the first answer, but it wasn’t enough. That didn’t cover it in the slightest. “For everything.” He was fighting sudden tears. “I couldn’t save them.”

  “And the Commander?” Bishop Wojdan had accompanied the Queen down to the dock and now he stood looking stricken.

  “They’re all dead. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The tears came then and he looked for a gap in the ring of people to escape through, but they had him surrounded three deep. Jenn tried to grab him and accidentally grabbed his wounded arm. The pain felt deserved. “I think I need to be alone.”

  He pushed past. His feet were a blur until he found himself in the little room he had used ages ago, back when he was just a nobody and Jenn Lockhart was just a Hill girl he would dream about sometimes. The bed was no longer his. It belonged to a dead man—one of the men he had failed to save.

  Mike didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but he was out in seconds and slept straight through to morning. He took only a single peaceful breath before the pain of failure struck him as strongly as it had the night before. A groan escaped him as he sat up. The moment he did, Shaina Hale knocked on the door.

  “Are you awake? Hello?” she said from the other side. “I’m supposed to get you as soon as you wake up. So, are you? Awake, I mean.”

  Reluctantly, he answered, “Yeah.”

  “Oh good. I have some clothes for you. The Queen picked them out so they should be perfect.” She opened the door a crack and threw in a pair of jeans and a rough grey sweater. There were socks but no shoes. Mike didn’t care. He went without, and trudged silently up to the prison, pausing once to glance back at where the Floating Fortress had once been anchored. It was gone but the bodies were still there, floating on the tide, a thousand seagulls winging circles over head.

  The weight of despair he’d been carrying doubled, and his back bent, and his shoulders drooped.

  He also stole a quick look at the Corsair fleet. There were fifty of them. Still a distinct advantage. Nothing had changed. A hundred men had died and they were still behind the eight ball.

  The Queen’s office was crowded, though without Commander Walker’s burly presence everyone seemed small. The Bishop had two priests with him as well as his assistant Faith Checkamian, who wore a shapeless grey dress. To the side and standing rigidly erect was Knights Reserve Commander Jennifer Edgerton and three other knights. Behind the desk was Jenn, looking beautiful in her black leathers; beautiful but full of worry for Mike. Next to her was Donna Polston. The advisor was also in black, a color she rarely wore. It was common knowledge that she’d been sweet on Walker and now she looked ten years older. Mike wanted to apologize all over again.

  Compared to the Bishop in his purple robe and the soldiers in their uniforms and the Queen in all her elegance, Mike felt like a ragged kid. And that was okay, he was a kid. The sooner everyone started thinking that, the better.

  “How are you feeling?” Jenn asked as soon as he had bowed from the shoulders. She quickly changed the question to, “How’s the arm feeling?”

  “Good as new.” He had lost the bandage somewhere in the night and the stitches were red and swollen.

  She didn’t believe him for a second and arched an eyebrow at him. It said: I’ll deal with that little lie later. “First off, I’d like to congratulate you on your victory. Under the circumstances, it could not have been easy.”

  Mike swallowed hard at the word “victory” and started to shake his head. Jenn spoke right over the movement. “Yes, victory. We all agree that no one could have done half as well. The plan was solid and the results were greater than any of us could have expected.”

  “Twenty-one ships is a lot,” Commander Edgerton said, somewhat breathlessly. “From where we were, we didn’t think you got half as many. And it’s a miracle that you survived. It was like the Fourth of July out there.”

  “It was luck,” Mike muttered without looking up. “Dumb luck.”

  The Queen drummed her fingers on her desk in agitation. “Don’t discount luck, Mike. Luck is a very important attribute in a commander.” Now he glanced up and stared at her with a growing dread. She nodded. “Yes, I said commander. We have decided that you should be the new Knights Commander.”

  The room went silent as everyone watched Mike’s reaction. It was one of horror. “I…no. I can’t. It’s been disaster after disaster. Isn’t there someone else? What about Troy. We can send for him. I’ll go myself.”

  “We considered Troy,” the Bishop said. “We also considered that he might be in dire straits where he is currently. Those people are out on a limb. They need decisive leadership. He’s needed there and you’re needed here.”

  “I’m needed here to do what? Watch more men die?” Before anyone could say anything, Mike stormed out of the room, his eyes hot and his face apple red. He went straight down into the lower cells where the air was cool and the concrete cold.

  Jenn found him in less than a minute. She came down with a small lantern, taking an unerring path like she was drawn to him. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want
you to go on the bridge and I didn’t want you to try to take that boat, and last night,” she paused, her chest trembling. “Last night, I let you go even with a death omen on you. It was clear as a bell, Mike. You were supposed to die but I asked the Bishop to pray for you and…and here you are. You keep coming back. You keep winning.”

  “That was no win, Jenn. That was a massacre. We lost a hundred good men. A hundred!”

  “And they lost more. And they lost ships, Mike a lot of them. You keep whacking their numbers down, over and over. We could be one more win from driving them away for good. Think about it. And think about this: there’s no one else, Mike. If you don’t do it, the Guardians will choose Edgerton to lead and I don’t think she’s ready.”

  Mike didn’t think so either, but that was beside the point. “I’m not ready. A leader should be more than brave, and they have to have more going for them than just the ability to live when everyone else dies. They should have a plan or ideas, or something. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you know what they will do?”

  In his mind’s eye he pictured the Corsair ships out by the bridge. Were they bringing men back after the invasion of Angel Island or were they taking more men away for another attack somewhere else? “I don’t know and I’m not the man to ask. I’m not a military genius or anything. I really don’t know what their army will do.”

  “I don’t think anyone does. But you know the bay better than anyone and you know ships and sailors. Only you can lead us. Only you can win.”

  There was that word again. The night before didn’t feel like a win to Mike. Every time he pictured it, all he saw were bodies and explosions. His head still rang with the thunder of those explosions.

  A violent shiver wracked him and she took his hand and squeezed gently. “Let’s get out of here, Mike. I don’t like the dark right now.” She was afraid of seeing another death omen. And she didn’t like seeing how pale he was. Under the weak light of the lantern, he had a corpse-like quality.