The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  “Well yeah, you're kinda yellin' at me, ya know.” Under the water, Hunley's helmet-com was much louder than the others.

  “It's Paul, he's in the water.”

  “I'm a little busy. I'm sure the professor can swim.” Hollis was just completing the last cut of the hull on the first ship. The steel was thick and difficult to cut. It took great concentration to keep the laser on its digital path. The boats could stay afloat even without their center sections, due to their unique design, but only if Hollis followed Lantern's guides with precision. And Revolution had been adamant about creating an unmistakable spectacle in the middle of the harbor. All the important electronics were contained inside the sections Hollis was cutting away. Everyone in Boston would know these big boats were just there to spy on them. That had been Revolution’s goal and why Hollis had to succeed at hollowing them out from below.

  A great, thudding crack broke above him. He hit his thrusters full power and zipped out from under the massive hull just as the center two-thirds of it broke away and plummeted to the bottom of the harbor. The swell of sea water it churned up forced Hollis to fight against it. It also caused a ripple in his audio. He could hear Sophia screaming at him but couldn't make out a single word.”Say again?”

  “He's drowning!”

  Hollis spun. His scanners read the area around him but saw nothing. “I don't see him.”

  “Look down,” Sophia said, dread in her voice.

  And then he saw. One hundred feet down and sinking fast. Ward was three hundred yards away. Hollis zoomed at him full speed. He crossed the space in twenty seconds. Snagged Ward, plopped an emergency oxygen mask on his face, and rocketed him up to the surface. The speed and the pressure made Ward feel like his lungs were going to rip out of his chest—on fire. The oxygen mask had the same accelerated hyperbaric abilities as Hunley's suit to decompress Ward's blood and lungs, but not as effectively. Hollis broke the surface and went airborne. Ward gasped for a breath before they smacked back down into the water, and he gulped in seawater. Hollis had him back up and out of the waves as Ward gasped and choked for air, spitting ocean out of his nose and mouth. A howitzer was going off in his head and chest.

  “Oh man,” Ward coughed, “let’s not do that again.” Ward spat seawater, mangling his words. The heavy net still clinging to him, pulling at him.

  “Well, every man needs to be baptized, Professor. But some are baptized by fire. You ready for yours?” Hollis was grinning, and Ward just looked at him like he was crazy. “Hold your breath, son,” and with that Hollis dunked him back down under the water. The Master Diver let Ward go, and for a moment the professor panicked all over again, pain from his lungs still shooting through him. But Hollis reached out and grabbed the net, pulling it away from Ward's body. He yanked out the welding laser and cut a long vertical slit in the net, allowing Ward to pull himself free and swim to the surface.

  “Oh my God, thanks. Thank you so much!” Ward yelled to him after they had surfaced.

  “Well, you're not the first fish I've cut out of a net, Paul.” The Master Diver grinned at him. And then Hollis was back under the waves.

  Revolution and Bailey had reached the first ship early on, and using i-hooks, they pulled down the entry ramp, allowing an invisible Rachel to climb on board. They did this for each destroyer. Rachel used her RDSD to download as much information as she could without being seen or detected. This would be the Suns of Liberty’s coming-out party, but Revolution still didn’t want the Council to know she or Lantern existed. She found the data that Lantern was unable to retrieve remotely. The ship’s main cabin, which was actually just a bank of mainframe computers, was surrounded by a layer of digital interference. A shield that had blocked Lantern’s prying eyes. She used the RDSD to soak up all the data the ships had produced. They would soon know what the Council knew and when they knew it.

  Bailey moved swiftly across each boat and tied up the unconscious crew to the side rail of each ship. They didn't want them sinking to the bottom of the ocean, too. He was very careful to make sure the video cameras on each ship got good close-up glossies of his mug. There would be no question that it was CIA Special Division Director John Bailey on that ship, tearing it apart right next to public enemy number one, the Revolution. Bailey’s only regret was not being able to be there when they realized it was him.

  The Revolution, for his part, charged on board after Rachel was well away and sprinted across the ship, ripping out every large gun turret and tossing them into the ocean. The hollow fake decoys were made of a lightweight aluminum that actually floated in the water. When the Revolution was done with one ship he simply charged across the bow and leapt across to the next destroyer, yanking out their fake gunnery and tossing them into the harbor and staying a step ahead of Hollis, who was rapidly cutting away below. When Revolution was done, the harbor was littered with the discarded weaponry.

  They had made a mess of the ships. As the five reboarded their Sikorsky, the three battleships lay with their center sections missing. All of their “guns” floating in the water around them. And large antennae spires jutting out in front of them like some macabre gateway to the sea. Sophia had doused them in a liquid igniter the Army was calling Everlight: a nonburning fire that could last for hours. A staple of the troops in the ongoing African Conflict. The spires stood like giant torches in the bay. The bizarre display would guarantee news coverage. It would become obvious to everyone that these were not regular destroyers. A little investigation would reveal they were actually high-tech devices that were being used to spy on Bostonians—Blake Lane would aid in that with an exclusive exposé. The Chairman would deny it and spin it, of course, but the evidence would be there for all to see who bothered to look.

  The Sikorsky rose, soaring into the night sky, still in stealth mode, and angled away at high speed. By the time they took off, a few onlookers had braved their way to the shoreline to get a better look. The loud cracking and snapping of the center sections of the massive ships giving way and sinking into the depths had caused a commotion. In short, the operation had gone nearly flawlessly.

  Nearly.

  CHAPTER 39

  An alarm on the cockpit squealed to life, and Bailey leaned back and barked at them, “X-1s! On our tail! I can keep those helos off us for a while, but I’m gonna need backup!” Revolution spun back to see four attack copters thundering toward them, closing the gap fast. Revolution wondered how Lantern hadn't seen them coming.

  “I got this!” Sophia yelled, sliding open the bay door and falling out. Her boot propulsors ignited, and she blasted toward the Apaches.

  Revolution motioned to Ward. “Fly me up!”

  “Okay, but—” Ward started to ask him what the plan was when Revolution threw himself out of the Sikorsky after Sophia. “Holy shit!” Ward yelled and followed him out the door—didn't even think about it this time before he was in free fall. Holy shit!

  Rachel struggled to yank the door shut against the air current as the three of them fell away from the craft. Ward dove toward Revolution, who was in actual free fall, with no way to fly. Ward blasted his jets and caught up to him but mistimed his approach, smacking into him with a thud. The impact was like hitting a bus. It took Ward's breath, and for a moment he panicked as he saw the ground rising up fast. His brain was jumbled. He couldn't think. This was nothing like flying reconnaissance over rooftops. This took timing and precision and a whole host of aerial skills Ward had yet to develop.

  “Paul. Pull up, please,” Revolution said calmly. Ward was seeing stars, and it took him far too long to regain control of his senses. He pulled hard, attempting to arc back skyward, but Revolution’s weight was too much. They were turning upward too slowly. The ground rose up fast below them. Twenty feet to impact. Ward pulled harder, and Revolution tried to help. They turned skyward just as Revolution's boots gouged into the soft earth of the shoreline. Ward heard Revolution grunt from the impact as dirt sprayed into both of their faces. But Ward had managed to h
ang on to him. They were headed up.

  “I thought you said you hated to fly?” Ward said with a grin.

  Revolution said nothing.

  “Now what?” Ward asked.

  “Go straight up!”

  Ward opened the jets full force and zipped vertical.

  Meanwhile, Sophia had continued blasting toward the X-1s, which opened fire. She responded with a burst of power and flew beneath their artillery. The streaks of the projectiles skimmed just above her as she dove. The rounds were close enough to hear and smell. Deadly whistle and acrid metal. The copters circled back to take her out. Sophia smiled. Just what she wanted. She’d drawn their fire. Now she just had to survive it.

  Ward rocketed the Revolution far above Sophia and the X-1s. Revolution peered down and yelled to Ward, “Drop me!”

  “What?”

  “Drop me! Do it now!” He knew Sophia could not hold out forever.

  “I don't think —” Revolution slammed an elbow into Ward ribs, cutting off his words, and Ward was sent careening away like a missile out of control. Revolution was in free fall again. Three thousand feet above the Earth. His cape snapped rigid. He steadied his body and glided toward Sophia, who was arcing back up at him with the X-1s hot on her tail.

  Revolution barked into her helmet-com. “Helius. Look up. Do you see me?”

  “Yes,” she said after a few seconds.

  “Shoot me. One blast only, please.”

  Sophia paused for a second, but only a second, and then followed the order. You asked for it. She fired a blue beam of her H3 energy right into Revolution. The blast engulfed him and flung him back up into the night sky. But soon enough his momentum stalled and he was back into free fall...

  Below him, Sophia felt the metal zing past her again. The X-1s had her locked on. She needed to take them out now. In midair, she turned and blasted the two inner birds out of the sky. The X-1s exploded in spectacular fiery starbursts.

  Two down. She knew the other two birds would have to fly clear of the dangerous debris field. This gave her a second to relax, check on the General. She peered up into the sky...

  But the two X-1s that remained banked away from the explosions and then they were back on her. They set their aim. She was in the center of their crosshairs. Completely unaware. No chance to escape. The pilots squeezed their triggers…

  Just as two blue streaks of energy ripped the X-1s apart from above.

  Revolution watched as the H3 energy released from his arms and destroyed the Apaches below—just a millisecond before the pilots’ fingers hit their triggers. The shockwave the blasts produced slammed into him, and again he was sent spinning across the sky. “Paul, if you're still up here, a little help would be wonderful.”

  Ward heard the eerie calm in Revolution’s voice. Either the man really didn’t fear dying at all, or he was the rare individual who got calmer in the face of his fear. He’d said he didn’t like to fly. For everyone else on the planet that meant you feared it. What the hell did it mean for the Revolution? Maybe he actually welcomed death. Ward put that out of his mind and replied back.

  “I'm coming in above you at your...ten o'clock,” Ward said, a little peeved at being smacked in the ribs, but he’d seen the whole thing go down. He had to learn to follow orders better. Clearly.

  Revolution peered up and saw him. He shifted his body and let his cape snap rigid again. In a matter of seconds he was gliding at high speed, angled to the ground. Left to his own, he would have died gracefully, colliding with the Earth like a plane with no landing gear. But Ward eased in on top of him, and Revolution let the cape relax. Ward embraced him and lifted the arc of his flight, and soon the two men were trailing the bright blue exhaust of Helius back to the escape chopper.

  The Harbor Incident, as it was called, became national news. And after a few days, the new Suns of Liberty took credit for it. The Revolution was implicated. As was Spider Wasp and Helius. Other unknown accomplices were also mentioned in the Media Corp reporting.

  The Suns became instant celebrities. WORLD’S FIRST SUPER TEAM! one headline blared. Followed with But Are They Friends or Foes? Media Corp touted the superteam angle in its headlines because it sold copies, drove hits on the Net, and increased revenue flow. The reader was always set straight in the body of the piece: the Suns were terrorists.

  Speculation was rampant on who the other members of the Suns really were, and that too sold copies. Little-known members of the hero movement found themselves giving crowded press conferences to disavow membership. Or risk being hauled in by the Council Guard. Libertine held a press conference. So did the Lady Rage. Heroes no one had heard of were famous for a day.

  “Sun-spotting” became a favorite public pastime, rivaling Elvis, Bigfoot, and UFO sightings. Members were seen everywhere no matter how small the town or how far away it was from Boston. The Suns of Liberty were the top-rated news item for weeks.

  As more weeks passed, press coverage died down, and the Suns started to believe that the Council might not retaliate.

  They were wrong.

  The Chairman had already wanted to strike a blow. Now he knew he had to.

  At precisely midnight on a cool late September evening, four power plants in South Boston exploded simultaneously. The flames rode high into the skies in fantastic clouds of hell. Two Media Corp crews just happened to be near enough to get live footage. Purely coincidence, of course.

  The old power grid had been replaced about twenty years before with these four major power plants. The Four Corners, as they were collectively called, generated about seventy-five percent of the power in South Boston's working-class neighborhoods.

  All four plants had skeleton crews of about thirty that night. The death toll for all four explosions was only two. Sixty-seven were injured. All four plants were complete losses. The four plants were holding unprecedented coordinated fire drills at the very moment they were bombed. Even Chairman Sage has a conscience, Revolution had surmised. Bailey had seen bombings up close many times. He knew these had been done with military precision of the highest caliber. They were not the work of amateurs, as was claimed in the press.

  Immediately, the authorities descended on the scene. Some might say too quickly. Despite the hour, Boston's police, Council Guard, and military personnel were more than capable of coordinating a response to the attack. Within minutes media reports announced who had perpetrated the heinous act of terrorism: The Suns of Liberty. This time they had gone too far, the reporters and authorities said. They were no longer content to just go after the Council. Now they were coming after you.

  Of course, it wasn't true. Opinion polls revealed the public did not believe the Suns were responsible. But as weeks rolled on with still no power in the Heights, polls showed that Americans did buy into the idea that local officials had not been able to fix the massive damage at the plants due to the unruly streets of Boston. The Suns knew that the truth was that the Council was just delaying the repairs. The Council imposed a dusk-to-dawn curfew in South Boston to “maintain order.” And while Bostonians opposed it by wide margins, a thin majority of Americans supported it.

  For the next two months, the material conditions of living in South Boston became increasingly miserable. The calculated strategy was to undermine public support for the Resistance in the heart of the movement itself. In the local papers, whose print circulation boomed during the power outage, the notion that nothing but misery can come from supporting the Resistance was aired with regularity. It would have been a compelling narrative were it not for the fact that most Bostonians did not believe the Suns were responsible for the bombings. Nor did they appreciate the obvious propaganda coming out of Media Corp.

  The problem with playing it straight most of the time in the mainstream media was that when the Chairman decided to take control and make a media blitz against a policy or person or, in this case, the entire Resistance, it became too obvious what he was up to. Bostonians were onto him. And while a small percentage
was swayed by the campaign, a much larger portion of the public hardened their views that the Council itself was behind their suffering. This data was, of course, never released to the public.

  SOUTH BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Inside Ward's apartment, dust covered much of the furniture. The clutter was worse than normal. Ward was depressed. After the Harbor Incident and the Council’s retaliation for it, the Revolution, Leslie, and the people in COR decided their big move would be to...do nothing. They put together their superteam and then just sat around. Or at least that’s how it felt to Ward.

  What they said they were doing was recruiting Minutemen volunteers, improving the suits and weapons of the Suns’ team members. Allowing time for Revolution, Leslie, and Bailey to put their heads together, come up with a plan. Leslie was said to be working on a solution to their energy issues in South Boston. Revolution seemed obsessed about her work.

  All Ward knew was that misery was everywhere in South Boston. The Council refused to fix the power plants. They blamed the lack of progress on the extensive destruction and the unruly streets. But the truth was, the quarantine was to blame for the rise in crime right along with the rise in desperation. And that’s just how the Council wanted it. It was punishment, and it was aimed at stoking dissent on the streets against the Suns of Liberty. So why weren’t the Suns doing something about it?

  The strategy made no sense to him.

  Ward sat at his window looking out at the desolate, run-down city. The weather had turned colder. Cars sat abandoned. Businesses shuttered. Discarded newspapers whipped in the winter wind. A line of soldiers was stationed on the outskirts of the quarantine area, making sure no one left. Boston hasn’t been saved. It’s worse than ever.

  Ward‘s eyes were sullen, regretful, and he hadn't shaved in days. He slid one of his darts from a small canister and pricked it into his wrist. A smile of relief washed over him. He sank to the floor. Alison crawled over to him. She rested her head in his lap. She opened her hand, and a dart rolled out and rattled across the floor. She smiled numbly and closed her eyes.