by Dan Levinson
Next, he went to the hotel restaurant and ate a large meal of chicken and pasta, high in protein and carbohydrates. The meal was prepared with olive oil; the fat would slow the digestion and ensure it continued to power him several hours from now.
After he finished eating, he returned to his room, showered, and then sat on the floor and meditated.
He played out the operation once more for good measure. The battles outside the city were simply a diversion to allow this mission to succeed. And succeed it would. Once they infiltrated, Moreau would trick the surveillance cameras with looped video feeds, and disable the security on the doors. With one fell swoop, they would establish Calchis’s dominance over Orion. Psionics were the new face of warfare, and Calchis and its allies would soon have a near-monopoly on those powers.
It would begin a glorious new era.
Agent spent the last few hours resting—not sleeping, but drifting in a semi-conscious state, keeping his mind sharp while his body restored itself. His alarm went off at 0230. He dressed in his black operations outfit: a bulletproof vest over a thick shirt, his belt with firearms and tools, and black combat pants and boots.
When he was finished, he went to the suite next door.
His team was waiting, Cole and Hague in ops attire similar to his own, and Moreau in front of her computer. Her LCD displays flickered with security feeds and other information Agent had no need to understand. When she saw him enter the room, she donned a headset and gave him an affirmative nod.
Agent did not speak a single word. Without prompting, Cole hoisted the duffel bag that contained the ordnance. Agent led them out onto the balcony.
A gibbous moon hung over the city; it was white, ghostly pale, like a bleached bone, the rounded crown of a skull.
Agent extended a hand toward Cole, who passed along the duffel bag. Agent filled himself with power and folded space like fabric, touching two points together so that for a moment they existed side by side. He transported himself to the roof of the hotel.
The city lay before him—the slumbering masses safe in their homes, while those who frequented the nighttime hours milled about: taxi drivers, bar hoppers, thieves, and drug dealers, vermin all. Undoubtedly, hidden amid the churning congregation of humanity were the few worthy ones, those who might someday advance the human race.
If only there were some way to cull the rest.
Ah, but that was a thought for another day.
With their psionically enhanced speed and strength, it took Cole and Hague less than a minute to scale the side of the building and join Agent. From there, Agent led the way, teleporting from rooftop to rooftop. His subordinates followed, using their powers to muffle their landings and hide their forms as they leaped from one place to the next.
Before long, the hotel was out of sight. In the distance, the floodlights along the perimeter of the Orion compound shone brightly—Agent and his team continued their advance, moving onto the roofs of nearby apartments. When at last they were a few blocks away, Agent motioned to a nearby fire escape, then teleported to ground level. A moment later, Cole and Hague clambered down behind him. One day Agent would teach Cole the trick of teleportation.
For Hague, of course, there would be no “one day.”
They found themselves in an alleyway between two buildings. Agent quickly located the manhole cover leading to the sewers below. He lifted the metal disc, then climbed down the ladder, the bag of explosives slung over his shoulder. The other two followed.
Agent pushed the refuse stench of the sewer away with his power. He proceeded along the cement shelf that overhung the sewer’s river of waste, now and again passing dim yellow work lights set inside small grates.
Ten minutes along, he found what he was searching for: a ladder leading up to a reinforced steel hatch in the ceiling, with a worn security keypad set into its surface. A placard read “Maintenance shaft. Orion military personnel only. Trespassers arrested on sight.” Agent pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. Almost 0400. “Moreau,” Agent said, “we’re at the access point. Status?”
Moreau’s voice responded through his earpiece transmitter. “The strike teams are moving into position. Updates as soon as they come in.”
“Good,” Agent said. He set down the duffel bag and unzipped it. Inside were three smaller bags, each loaded with shaped charges of HXN, complete with timed detonators. They would be set to go off in twenty-four hours. Agent passed one of the small bags to Cole, another to Hague, and took the last for himself.
Minutes passed—five, ten, then twenty. The only sounds were the burble of water and the soft breathing of the other men. Agent waited, his mind calm. When Hague began to tap his foot, Cole shot the man a reproachful glance, and Hague sheepishly ceased his movement.
Finally, Moreau’s voice spoke up again. “Enemy chopper engaged en route. Things have gotten started a little early,” she said.
Agent nodded to himself. Of course Orion had been watching, and had engaged the convoys en route. He’d expected no different.
Once Moreau received word that the Orion reinforcements had arrived in the field, Agent and his team would strike. Likely Orion would send most of its psions to deal with the frontal assault, leaving the base vulnerable. Agent knew better than to assume that would be so, but he had confidence Cole and even Hague could handle any opposition. They had been ordered to avoid confrontation, but, should the need arise, both men could make a pesky corpse disappear. Anyone who noticed a couple missing soldiers would likely think they had been injured or killed in the fighting. It would take more than a day to sort it out, and by then it would be too late.
“Orion reinforcements inbound,” Moreau said over the comm device. “Opening her up. Stay frosty.”
There was a click as the door to the maintenance shaft unlocked above them. Agent pulled it open. He raised the bag of HXN into the space beyond, then hauled himself up after it.
The tunnel ahead was low, and he had to hunch as he walked. Parallel tracks of small lights were set into the ceiling, and tiny pin lights dotted the floor. Cole and Hague followed at Agent’s heels, their footfalls softly echoing. The place smelled of oil and metal, an improvement over the putrid odor below. The three men moved as swiftly as was possible along the narrow passageway. They emerged at a junction, each passage leading to a different part of the facility. Steam leaked out from one of the nearby pipes.
Agent stopped and turned to his subordinates.
“You have your targets,” he said. “This mission could very well win the war. No mistakes.”
Cole and Hague nodded. Cole’s face was unreadable; Hague looked excited.
“Patrols are minimal,” Moreau said. “Listen close and I’ll keep you free and clear.”
“Affirmative,” Agent said. He met Cole and Hague’s eyes a final time, then headed down one of the branches, HXN in hand. Each bag held three pounds, divided into half-pound charges. Haste was imperative. There was no guarantee how long the diversion would go on.
At the least, Agent knew he would do his part properly. Three pounds of HXN, one of them attached to the main gas line, could annihilate much of the base.
The time for destruction was now.
37
KAY
When Kay returned to base after seeing Jackie, she went straight to Dobbs’s office. Time to put it all on the table. It might spell the end of her chance at receiving a commission, and possibly earn her an official reprimand. But if she had information about a potential security breach, it was her duty to report it.
It occurred to Kay that she had begun to feel a true sense of pride in being a soldier. Everything that had happened to her in the past month—with Tiberian, Nyne, and finally Jackie—had brought her to what was truly important.
The military was not just her career. It was her life. And she wanted her life to mean something.
She wanted to make a difference, and she knew that she could.
When she arrived at Dobbs’s office,
she paused outside the door. She hoped he would understand. Jackie had tricked her. Kay blamed herself for being duped, but maybe her superiors would see it differently. She should have made a full statement about Jackie last night, the moment she had discovered his true motives. But she had been too distraught and . . . weak.
Kay screwed up her courage and knocked.
“Come in,” said Dobbs.
She found him at his desk.
“Sergeant,” he said, “I’m afraid we can’t push up that OCS business any sooner. Be patient. I gave you my word.”
“It’s something else, sir,” she said.
“Oh?”
Kay started at the beginning—how she had met Jackie at a sports bar when he interceded to stop a man from harassing her. She detailed their brief relationship, forcing herself to slog through the specifics. Recounting it caused her to relive both the joy and the betrayal. She omitted the part where she had slept with him; that was her own shame to bear.
Through it all, Dobbs studied her with keen eyes. Every so often he ran a thumb along the line of his jaw. The gesture only made Kay more nervous. When she finished, he waited several seconds before he spoke.
“I’m glad you brought this to my attention,” he said at last.
Kay felt a flare of indignation. Of course she had! Even if she’d waited a day to do it. She’d just needed time to sort through her feelings, a day for it not to be so raw.
“First thing in the morning,” Dobbs went on, “we’ll have you sit down with someone from Intelligence. Work up a sketch of the guy. See if he’s been on their radar before.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“If there’s nothing else, Sergeant, why don’t you hit the hay? I’m sure you have a lot to think about,” he said.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Kay left the room fuming. Was she going to be demoted? She couldn’t very well barge back in and ask him. She had been prepared for consequences, not limbo. Not knowing what would happen was the worst punishment of all. She had spent years not knowing what had happened to Tiberian. Now all was in suspense again, only this time it was her whole livelihood on the line.
She returned to her quarters. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was not very late, but suddenly she felt exhausted. She mustered the energy to rise and turn off the lights, then undressed in the dark and crawled under the covers.
Kay awoke in darkness, her alarm blaring. No, it was not her alarm. It was . . .
All combat personnel to Staging Area Two. This is a Code Yellow. This is not a drill. All combat personnel to Staging Area Two. This is a Code Yellow. This is not a drill.
Sirens blared in the hall along with the repeated message. What was happening? Code Yellow meant enemy combatants!
She muttered a curse and rolled out of bed. She threw on a fresh uniform, then ran out the door. In the hall, other officers rushed by, pulling on clothing. Kay followed them to the elevators.
All combat personnel to Staging Area Two. This is a Code Yellow. This is not a drill.
Was this the event her brother’s appearance heralded? Would Tiberian be out there somewhere?
For all her determination to leave the past behind, she knew that if Tiberian was out there, she had to find him. She would never bring him home; that was a vain hope. She only wanted to ask him why. Why was he working for Calchis? Why had he never written or called or let anyone know he was all right?
Why had he abandoned her?
She packed in with a throng of other soldiers and rode the elevator up. As the large platform ascended, sirens continued to blare. When Kay arrived in the staging area, she saw men and women methodically readying themselves for combat—strapping on helmets, retrieving rifles, piling into transports and ATVs. Though uncertainty showed on the face of every soldier, each one performed his duties with admirable precision.
They knew their roles during a Code Yellow.
In a situation like this, training took over.
Kay hastened over to join the other motorbike squads. Within minutes, every soldier in the platoon was there, save for Sam Caldwell’s squad, who had the night shift. They were out in the desert, fighting, maybe dying, at that very moment.
Turner, Jensen, Maddick, and Zweig lined up behind Kay. When all were present and accounted for, First Sergeant Dobbs passed down their orders. Kay and her squad were to set out toward Outpost Three, along with two other bike squads. They would flank the opposition while the primary Orion forces engaged from the front. He also briefed them on what they had been able to learn about the enemy’s numbers and position.
With their objectives clear, Kay and her squad made their way to their bikes.
“Any inspiring words, Sarge?” Maddick asked.
In spite of everything, Kay smiled. She was glad to have her squad at her back. “When it hits the fan out there,” she said, “try not to piss yourself.”
“Noted,” Maddick said. “But no promises.”
The others laughed.
“Tonight beers are on me,” Kay said, “so I want everyone back here in one piece.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison, with only a hint of impertinence.
They wheeled their motorcycles forward, lining up with the other bike squads and the ATVs packed full of soldiers. There were nearly five hundred psions and seven hundred regular soldiers prepared to fight and kill and die for their country. No matter how strong they were, how resilient and disciplined, Kay knew that some of these men and women would not return.
After the battle, there would be mourning.
It had been years since some of these soldiers had seen combat. Many had never seen it at all. Kay hoped they were up to the task.
She hoped she was up to the task.
She put on a strong face for her squad, but inside she was a bundle of nerves. She trusted her abilities, her instincts, and she sure as hell trusted her squad, but anything could happen out there.
Anything.
With a mechanical whir, the enormous steel bay doors began to open. The shadowy expanse of the desert appeared before them, set beneath the fat waxing moon and glittering starscape. A cool gust of wind blew through the staging area. Kay shivered and put on her helmet.
Out front stood Command Sergeant Major Fox, talking on his radio with Grisham’s central command, which would include Bringham and Grisham’s CO, General Howard Liermont. The top brass would be watching the situation unfold and delivering orders from the command room.
At that moment the sergeant major’s voice crackled over the radios. “All units, you have clearance to proceed, all units . . .” The rest was drowned out as the vehicles sprang to life.
Kay kicked her bike into gear and sped out into the darkness. The rest of her squad was close behind her. She glanced down at the digital GPS attached to the bike’s steering column.
Outpost Three. Would Tiberian be there?
What would she do if he was?
Two miles went by in a blink. At first, it was all strangely peaceful, but before long the dull whumps of grenade launchers and the rapid pop-pop-pop of gunfire could be heard in the distance, coupled with low booms that could come only from explosions of psionic power.
She made it to the top of a ridge and saw Outpost Three on the flat plain before her—a grouping of low concrete buildings visible in the illumination of tall lampposts. Flashes punctuated the dimness, blazes of energy snapping back and forth between the outpost and a mass of shapes in the distance.
A glow had begun to suffuse the sky, but it was still too early to see much.
Kay looked toward the leaders of the other two bike squads, who were keeping pace with her. They spoke back and forth in hand signals, using the headlights of their bikes to make their gestures visible. They decided the other two squads would ride up and down the flanks of the enemy troop, while Kay and her unit would circle around the back and hit them from the rear.
They had to do their best to divert attention from the outpost itself. While there were enough trained personnel there to mount a defense, and their forces had caught the attack early, the recruits were still in danger. They were essentially infants, unprepared to weather a strike of this magnitude. Kay was left wondering how many of the trainees were dead already.
The thought turned her stomach.
She glanced back at her squad and held up two fingers pressed tightly together. The group fell into a close formation—two ranks of two. The soldiers closest to the enemy would launch an offensive while the other two formed barriers to deflect incoming fire. Kay slowed for a moment, allowing the bike squad on her left to pass her, then gunned her engine and threw her bike into higher gear, taking a wide berth around the beleaguered Outpost Three.
Abruptly, Kay shifted directions, swinging around toward the rear of the Calchan line. When the enemy spotted them, bullets and bolts of energy lanced in her direction. Kay seized her power and projected a shield in front of her squad, several yards ahead, so the detonations of psionic blasts wouldn’t obscure her path. Enemy fire echoed all around. Bullets continued to pepper the outpost.
Kay quickly gestured back at Turner and Maddick, then indicated the turrets atop the Calchan carriers, some with mortar teams firing and reloading, others with heavy machine guns. Her squad was moving too quickly to be tracked by the heavy shells, but they were still susceptible to rifle fire and psionic attacks.
Jensen and Zweig threw their powers into reinforcing Kay’s barrier, while Turner and Maddick hurled death at the Calchans. Turner launched spinning discs of white-hot energy that sheared through enemy shields, then flesh and bone and steel, before finally exploding in gouts of shrapnel, tissue, and ruined limbs. Maddick focused completely on the turrets; wherever he turned his attention, gunner’s nests erupted in flame, screams echoing from within the carriers as men burned alive.