Fires of Man

by Dan Levinson

  Suddenly, light played across the horizon, followed by thunderous booms. Finn stopped in his tracks.

  “What is that?” Sonja asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Finn. He trailed off. The light, the noise, and . . . the power tickling the edge of his consciousness was simply too strong. He could feel throes of psionic energy. What the hell was happening? He gripped Sonja’s hand more tightly and ran across the sands.

  As they cleared the next rise, they saw it.

  “Oh, God,” said Sonja.

  Finn could not believe his eyes. The base was under attack.

  35

  AARON

  The convoy rumbled through the night, hulking personnel transports shrouded in darkness. It had been slow going with the headlights off, driving by the light of the stars and moon. They were a welcome sight to Aaron. It had been too long since he had seen such a sky, unobscured by city lights.

  They had been moving through Grisham Desert for hours now, packed into armored carriers painted with sand camouflage. For this leg of the journey, Aaron had requested to ride with the other soldiers. They were friendly once they got over their initial fear that Aaron would treat them as subordinates. He made it clear he would do no such thing.

  The others turned out to be an interesting bunch, eight in total aside from Aaron. Most were privates who had never seen combat. They were from all over Calchis—some from the city, others from suburbia, and even one girl, Mitzi Porter, who came from the country, a place not unlike Aaron’s own home. His former home, he reminded himself.

  At first, they all wanted to know what it was like to be trained by Tiberian, and whether Aaron had any pointers for them. Their earnestness, however, could not hide the real question they were too afraid to ask: did he have any advice on how to stay alive?

  Aaron couldn’t think of anything of his own to say. Instead he told them a line from another of his favorite Coburn films, The 14th Regiment: “The first thing a man forgets out there,” he quoted, “is his life is not his own. His life belongs to his brothers, and their lives belong to him. So long as those bonds stand, a man will not break or fall; his brothers will carry him, to the ends of the earth and beyond.”

  The other soldiers were awestruck; apparently not one of them had seen the film. It was just as well. Coburn’s brothers had carried him in the end, in a pine box, to his grave, while the trumpets played.

  Eventually, some of Aaron’s compatriots began to doze, their light breathing filling the cramped space. Aaron could not sleep. It was not just fear of haunted dreams, but also anticipation of what was to come.

  Aaron did not worry for his own life, to his surprise. He thought he should have, but he felt confident in his abilities, his training, confident he could handle what came his way. If all went as planned, the initial assault would encounter only green, half-trained recruits. His concerns were for his fellows. None had received the sort of specialized instruction Aaron had. Would they be equipped to handle the battlefield, where they would see psionics wielded as a weapon for the first time?

  There was also a second fear, creeping and insidious. Aaron was afraid of what he himself might do, the sort of destruction he might wreak. Again, he thought of that word: “weapon.” In the past several weeks, he had witnessed more violence than in all his life before. He had seen Lissy Pickens murdered; he had seen a man disintegrated before his eyes. He had been imprisoned and beaten by John Black. And there was that voice in his head, the apparition of the man in red that he had begun to identify as the Prophet El. Aaron still wondered if that last was a figment of his imagination, a sign that he had broken, a representation of burgeoning darkness in his soul.

  If it came down to it, Aaron thought he could kill a man, and that thought terrified him.

  He spent the rest of the trip gazing out the narrow bulletproof window. Not every carrier had windows, and Aaron was grateful to be in one that did. He had never seen a desert before. The endless miles and miles were so barren, so desolate. How could anyone build a city here? There was nothing green aside from scattered cacti. Aaron had been raised surrounded by the miracle of growth and life that cycled with the seasons. To see a place so devoid of vibrancy fascinated him, as if it was something wrong and terrible he could not look away from, like . . .

  A fine red mist.

  He shuddered.

  The transports rumbled on through the darkness. How long would it take before the Orionans came to stop them? Tiberian had warned that the enemy was on high alert at the border. It was only a matter of time.

  Somewhere out there were additional vehicles, carrying more Calchan soldiers—both psions and non-psions. The plan was to stage a multi-pronged assault at dawn. Once the more seasoned Orion combatants arrived from the city, Tiberian would use his strength to facilitate a Calchan retreat, though Aaron didn’t know how.

  The carriers themselves were armed with recoilless rifles, machine guns, and grenade launchers that would rip into the Orion camps while the enemy was still mobilizing. In the briefing, Aaron and the others had been told there was no dilemma here, because the two nations were still at war, and psion training camps on the Calchan border represented a clear and present danger of invasion. Aaron couldn’t quite swallow that. It sounded like an awful rationalization. Aaron’s father had always said Orion wanted to take away the Calchan people’s freedom, and impose its own laws and regulations, but after everything Aaron had seen . . . he wasn’t so sure he believed Calchis was in the right anymore. His country certainly hadn’t done right by him.

  But he didn’t think there was anything he could do to stop this.

  He settled back into his seat, knowing he needed to rest, bad dreams or not. But he was wide awake. He would see death this day. All his life, he had watched war films, seen battle romanticized, but this was different. It was real. Young men and women wouldn’t be coming home to their families. And the worst part was he thought his father would be proud to see him going off to fight! Aaron shuddered, just thinking about it.

  And then he wondered if he would ever see his mother and father again.

  The convoy continued onward, over the succession of rolling dunes. The desert was so uniform. Aaron thought that if a man got lost here, he would certainly die. He lost all sense of time; the procession of rippling sands mesmerized him with its passage.

  Suddenly, the vehicle came to a stop. A couple of the slumbering soldiers jerked awake, looking around. There was no sound out there in the desert.

  A voice crackling over the radio split the silence. “Hold. Hold position.”

  Mitzi Porter was one of the privates who had come awake. She looked directly at Aaron. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Aaron was afraid Orionan attacks would blow them to smithereens, but he kept himself calm for the sake of his comrades.

  “I don’t know,” Aaron said, not wanting to alarm anyone. “Just hang tight.” That was a phrase he had picked up from that Galaxy Ranger flick.

  “Quiet,” Corporal Flaherty urged, from the front passenger seat of the carrier. He was stocky and pale, with light brown hair, not much older than Aaron himself.

  Everyone waited in silence for several long, tense minutes. Aaron stared out the window, looking for an indication of what had brought their convoy to a halt. He could see nothing but sand, hear nothing but the low rumble of the engine and the breathing of his fellows in short, nervous spurts. Aaron’s heart drummed a rapid beat. One of the other privates, a black kid named Colin, anxiously jiggered his leg up and down.

  Aaron’s stomach twisted and churned. They could come under attack at any moment, trapped in a metal shell, deep in enemy territory. This was life or death. He could feel the fear in everyone around him. He took in all their faces, and though their features were difficult to discern in the shadows of the carrier’s interior, he could see that every one of them was a mask of near-terror. Any of them, or all of them, could be dead before this was over.

  The radio crack
led. “All clear,” said the voice.

  A unanimous sigh of relief passed through the vehicle as it lumbered into motion. A few of the privates broke into smiles or nervous, self-conscious laughter.

  Aaron remained silent. He was supposed to stay out of the action, but what if he could save lives by participating? He was better trained, more powerful than his companions. He had advantages the others did not. He understood they were more expendable than he was in the eyes of their superiors, but Aaron didn’t see it that way. His life belonged to his brothers, and theirs belonged to him. They had families waiting for them back home, and it was his duty to ensure they returned to their loved ones. He didn’t know what punishment he might have to endure for his insubordination if he threw himself into combat, but it would be worth it if he could keep his soldiers alive.

  Outside, the expanse of sand passed by uninterrupted until Aaron saw a dim shape he soon recognized as a squat tree. As the carrier drew closer, Aaron made out a small oasis. He pressed his face against the glass, seeing the tree, scrubby grass, and a small pool of water that was black in the night, reflecting the stars above.

  He watched until the oasis receded out of sight.

  The convoy ambled along. Aaron wondered how far they had gone, and how far until they reached their destination. They would have to arrive soon, he reasoned, and then . . .

  The radio came to life again. “Hold position.”

  Emboldened by the previous halt, the soldiers were relaxed as the transport came to a stop. There were more than a few grins shared between them.

  However, the waiting began to take its toll.

  Aaron continued his vigil at the window, and there he saw it: lights blinking in the sky. A moment later, the sound of helicopter rotors reached his ears.

  He held his breath. It was too early for their own helicopter to have arrived, and this one was headed in the wrong direction. It had to belong to Orion. Aaron clasped his hands in his lap and prayed the chopper would not notice them.

  Slowly but surely it passed out of sight.

  He exhaled.

  A spotlight burst to life. The helicopter wheeled back into view.

  “Shit!” said Corporal Flaherty.

  Another voice sounded on the radio. “This is Lieutenant Mark Tredosian, Convoy Three. We have Orion contact. I repeat, we have Orion contact.”

  “Copy, Lieutenant,” responded the voice on the radio. “Proceed to location!”

  The carrier lurched, then rumbled on, following the other transports. Words blared out from a speaker on the Orion helicopter, but Aaron couldn’t make them out. He watched as light erupted from further back along the convoy; a sphere of crackling bluish-white energy hurtled through the night toward the chopper.

  As it neared the airborne vehicle, the sphere collided with an invisible barrier and erupted in midair, lighting up the desert with an eerie glow. The helicopter rocked unsteadily. More balls of energy rocketed up. Two were stopped by the shield, but a third struck the tail of the helicopter, and a fourth its nose. The helicopter fell into a tailspin, smoke streaming from its damaged chassis.

  It spiraled to the ground, hit the sand, and exploded with a resounding boom.

  A sweat broke on Aaron’s forehead as he stared at the wreckage. Even though they were the enemy, he couldn’t repress the horror that spread through him, knowing every person in that chopper was probably dead.

  The wreck faded into the distance as the transport sped on. No use trying to conceal their presence now.

  The convoy zoomed along the desert floor, clouds of sand billowing up outside the windows. Aaron balled his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. When would the next attack come? Would they see it, or would it catch them unawares?

  The carrier pulled to a stop at the top of a rise. The rest of the transports in the convoy came up beside it, forming a line of armored cars. Sirens blared in the distance, shrill and piercing, shattering the silence.

  “Go,” the corporal said. “Move, move, move.”

  Aaron yanked open the door and piled out, followed by the other soldiers and the corporal. All around, more young men and women were pouring out of their respective transports. The corporal brushed past Aaron, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder. “Stay back, stay safe.” To the rest he yelled, “Form rank!”

  Reluctantly, Aaron stood aside, watching as the others from his APC grouped into two staggered rows. Further out, past the edge of the rise, Aaron could see a large outpost flying the gold sunburst of the Orion Protectorate. People were pouring out of the barracks, shouting, running.

  It was pandemonium. The information had been correct; these were fresh, untrained recruits.

  Aaron felt a pang of guilt.

  First Lieutenant Tredosian and his second, Sergeant Galloway, hurried to the front of the Calchan line. Tredosian took in the formed ranks with a nod of approval, then extended his arm at the outpost. Immediately Galloway began to run down the line. “All fire,” he shouted.

  Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump. The turrets on top of the carriers lobbed grenades, or sprayed bullets with a dreadful rat-a-tat-tat. Soldiers popped up from hatches, wielding mortars. Psionic energy sprang up around other soldiers on the ground, and they rained down streaks of destructive color—fire, lightning, and flashes of uncanny might that bore no description beyond sheer, catastrophic force.

  Aaron saw some of the grenades and mortar shells burst in midair, or explode against shimmering, silvery, barely perceptible shields. Likewise, a number of the psionic blasts never reached a target, halted by the opposing barriers. More than enough struck home, however, sending enemies flying, ripping great gouts of earth and pavement and ruined flesh.

  Aaron paled at the gruesomeness of it all.

  This was war. It was not romantic or exciting; it was dark and frightening and violent and visceral. He could hear screams, drifting up amid volleys of shells and bullets. Now he was glad to be out of the action, glad not to have to rain death upon the opposition.

  Sergeant Galloway continued up and down the line, repeating the order to keep firing. Occasionally, he received further instruction from Tredosian, who pointed out specific targets and pockets of resistance. The lieutenant, atop his personnel carrier, surveyed the battlefield, binoculars in one hand and radio in the other. Now and again he made terse reports, then listened for further orders.

  Before long, return fire flashed out from the camp—lances of power, orbs of devastation. Some were shockingly weak, fizzling out before coming close. Others descended on the Calchan line with blazing speed.

  Aaron reached for his own power. Perhaps he could not fight, but he could defend. He began to form the mental image of a protective bulwark in the air, but before he could manifest it, the enemy fire began to burst. It occurred to Aaron then what the staggered ranks were for; those in the front were responsible for the offensive, while those behind repelled attacks.

  It continued like this for a time—salvos of power punctuated by Calchan arms fire, shining against the night sky like fireworks.

  The noise was deafening. The air smelled of ozone and sulfur.

  On occasion, Aaron did have to swat a blast out of the sky. Further down the line, a couple enemy attacks managed to penetrate. Aaron heard the cries of the wounded. He watched in horror as a spear of light impaled Mitzi Porter, spilling her blood across the sand.

  He thought of Lissy with the hole in her head, and began to shudder uncontrollably.

  Light began to creep across the horizon—ruddy dashes of purple and red that paled against the jets of light that filled the air. Lieutenant Tredosian hopped down from his carrier and strode over to Sergeant Galloway. Seconds later, Galloway was hustling up and down the line, hollering at the top of his lungs.

  “Enemy reinforcements inbound!”

  Tredosian, meanwhile, set about giving orders to a number of the armored vehicle drivers, who began to reposition the carriers to form a protective line against flanking maneuvers. That m
eant the enemy was coming in fast.

  As daylight encroached upon the last vestiges of night, a line of rising dust became visible in the distance, the sign of vehicles bearing Orion soldiers.

  The battle had only just begun.

  36

  AGENT

  “She won’t bother us,” said Cole.

  “Good,” said Agent.

  They sat in Agent’s hotel room. The Orion facility blueprints lay to one side.

  Agent probed at Cole with a stare. He wouldn’t dare lie, would he? Agent did not trust anyone caught in the grip of petty emotion. It would be akin to entrusting meat to a dog; no matter how well-trained, the animal would undoubtedly succumb to its baser instincts.

  Before Agent could inquire further, however, his satellite phone rang on the bureau.

  Agent grabbed it and checked the caller. It was Virard.

  “Good evening, General,” he answered.

  “We’re a go” was all Virard said before he hung up.

  Agent set the phone back down and turned to Cole. “Tonight is the night,” he said. “Ready the others. We leave at 0300.”

  To his credit, Cole remained impassive. “On it, boss.”

  Perhaps the man had not become overly emotional after all. Time would tell. Cole stood and inclined his head to Agent, then left the room.

  When Cole was gone, Agent glanced at the blueprint again. He had memorized the entire compound and run through the scenario in his mind more than a dozen times. Moreau assured him the Orion mainframe was at her express command. If everything went as planned, they would be in and out within an hour. Not that things ever went exactly as planned; one could only hope for the best and prepare for conceivable eventualities, and those inconceivable as well.

  Adaptability was key.

  With seven hours until the operation, Agent set out to prime himself. First, he visited the hotel gymnasium and performed thirty minutes of moderate cardio on the treadmill and stationary bike, followed by thirty minutes of light resistance training. He concluded with twenty minutes of stretching. By the time 0300 arrived his body would be rested, yet residually energized by the exertion.