Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  301’s eyes narrowed, “You did all this—lured us here at great personal risk—for a message?”

  “Show them, Lieutenant.”

  One of the operatives from the shack, a man 301 recognized as the target they had followed there, pulled out the small wooden box and opened it.

  Empty.

  But in scanning the faces of the men around him, 301 did not see a single one resembling the man who had made the drop. Why wouldn’t he have been present if this was, as the major suggested, a ruse?

  “As you can see,” the major said, “you fell for our little trick. Perhaps now you will listen to what we have to say?”

  “The World System does not negotiate with rebels,” Derek spat.

  “What are your terms?” 301 asked, ignoring Derek’s incredulous look. He detected something a bit off with the ambush and wanted to play along until he could discover what it was.

  “Deliver our message and we will allow you to escape unscathed.”

  301 looked at each of the rebels in turn, studying their expressions with a keen eye. He remembered the day Jacob Sawyer ambushed his team and the look in the eyes of his attackers. They had been confident and certain, with a plan they had brought to fruition. The men who surrounded them at the moment seemed frightened and disorganized, as though they hadn’t expected this turn of events at all. Their faces looked more like those of men who had been ambushed, rather than those who had prepared one.

  “Sounds like a fair deal,” 301 smiled. “But there’s only one problem. You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” the major challenged.

  “You’re attempting to improvise, buying time for one of your men to complete the delivery of whatever was in that box,” 301 said. “Which honestly just makes me that much more curious what it was. So I have another proposal, Major. You tell us what you received in that supply drop, and then you lead us to your enclave. Do this, and we will ensure each of you receive a swift and painless death.”

  Derek shifted his feet uncomfortably, and a pre-battle tension descended on the street. All 301 had to do was give the word and Derek would be ready to take on all ten men. But they were still outnumbered, and 301 had serious doubts they would survive. If only that Halo would fly a bit faster…

  “Foolish, Captain, and rash,” the major said. “We do not desire blood, but will spill it if necessary. We are giving you the chance to live. I suggest you take it.”

  Outnumbered they might be, but conflict was inevitable. 301 raised his blade into battle-ready position, adrenaline surging through his veins and giving his muscles renewed vigor and strength. “A Specter is given nothing, Major. We take what is ours!”

  301 surged forward and his blade fell like a hammer, crashing violently against the major’s with a high-pitched metal clang. The major fell to the ground from the swift force of the blow, and 301 plunged his blade into another operative before he had time to block.

  Derek engaged the five men between them and the shack, striking with the same speed and power. But the superior number of their adversaries forced them back to the center to avoid being overwhelmed on their own. Still, 301 took comfort in the fact that their opposition had decreased from ten to eight.

  The major rose from the ground, and despite his wounded pride joined the others in charging the two Specters. 301 braced himself, resolved to go down fighting. His grip tightened as they drew within a few feet, and he pulled his blade back in readiness to strike.

  Before he could blink, eight navy-clad warriors dropped out of the sky and surrounded the rebel force, Spectral Gladii ignited and swinging before their feet even touched the ground. Caught off-guard, the rebels were forced to split their focus between the prey in the center and the predators behind them, which proved to be their undoing. For nearly three minutes battle raged, blade meeting blade in a blur of whirling white light that occasionally disappeared within flesh. 301 heard the screams of the rebel force as it was overwhelmed and destroyed, and in the chaos he couldn’t discern whether any of those yells came from a Specter. Then, when calm fell once again on the lonely street, only the ten champions of Specter remained standing, blades still humming softly at their sides.

  “Captain,” Liz took hold of 301’s shoulder, and a sharp pain shot down his arm and into his torso. He had been hit with a glancing blow from a Spectral Gladius, likely during the rebel charge. In the rush of battle he hadn’t felt it at all. “Sorry,” Liz said with a more-than-casual concern. “Are you alright?”

  “It’s nothing,” he replied. He could still move the shoulder without a problem, but he knew it would be sore by morning. At least it was his left shoulder.

  Liz watched him with caring eyes for a moment longer than was appropriate, and then realized her mistake and tried to recover, “And you, Blaine?”

  “I’m fine,” Derek replied bitterly. He motioned to the bodies that lay scattered around them, “Though I can’t say the same for them.”

  “Captain!” Specter Marcus said from a few feet away. “We’ve got a live one here!”

  301 stepped over to where Marcus knelt, his fading shadow cast over the body of an unconscious rebel. Blood wet the side of the man’s face, but he was still recognizable: the major. “How bad is his wound?”

  “Doesn’t appear life-threatening,” Marcus answered. “He must have been knocked out in that charge, right when we fell from the Halo. Lucky for him.”

  “Or unlucky,” Derek said as he looked down at the rebel. “His men are beyond our reach now, but since he survived he will suffer more greatly than any of them.”

  “Yes, I suspect so,” Marcus said. “What do you want us to do with him, Specter Captain?”

  “Secure him, and take him back to the Spire,” 301 ordered. “I want to interrogate him myself.”

  “What about the eleventh man you were talking about?” Derek asked. “Should we search for him?”

  “No,” 301 shook his head. “We won’t find him now. The ambush might have been the real ruse, but it served its purpose. Whatever was in that box, these men were willing to give their lives to make sure it got back to Silent Thunder. We need to figure out what it was.” He located the wooden box and pointed it out to Liz, “I need to know anything you can tell me about what was inside that. It may give us insight into the rebellion’s next move.”

  “I’ll get on it right away,” Liz assured.

  “How did you know, Captain?” Derek asked, returning Exusia to his side. “How did you figure out that they were lying?”

  “Because I’ve been ambushed by Silent Thunder before,” 301 said. “If they really wanted to deliver a message they would have only left one of us alive. That, and they looked afraid. Men prepared to ambush us would never have shown fear.”

  Derek nodded and cleared his throat, then nearly choked on his next words, “Well, good work, Captain. I honestly didn’t think we would make it out of that one.”

  301 smiled, knowing what it cost Derek to say that. The Halo-4 landed a few yards away, and Marcus enlisted the aid of Specter Tyrell to carry the major to the vessel. The dead would be left lying in the open until the System’s cleaners could be informed of the incident. “I’m going to begin the interrogation immediately upon our return,” he told Derek. “I want you in the room with me.”

  Derek nodded, acknowledging the Specter Captain’s reciprocation of his earlier compliment. “You really think he’ll talk?”

  “No,” 301 admitted. “But as of right now, it’s our only lead.”

  “301,” Liz said, her voice full of frustration. “Your order to take the rebel to the Spire has been countermanded.”

  “Countermanded?” 301 asked. “By whom?”

  “Grand Admiral Donalson,” she replied. “He’s planning to interrogate him in the Hall of Mirrors.”

  301 gritted his teeth in an attempt to hide his anger, “Does he have the authority?”

  “Technically yes,” she said. “But it’
s a gray area.”

  “Change of plans, then,” 301 said, making a beeline for the Halo. “If Donalson wants to interrogate our prisoner, fine. But he won’t do it without us present. Specter Blaine, if you still want to do this with me, I need to know you’ve got my back.”

  Derek did not reply, apparently considering the ramifications of either course. But 301 couldn’t tolerate hesitation. This was a situation that had to be all or nothing. He stopped at the door to the Halo and turned back to face his partner, “Blaine! Do you have my back?”

  “Yes,” Derek said as though he had just decided. “I have your back.”

  “Alright,” 301 said. “Then let’s go.”

  Once 301, Derek, and Liz were on the Halo-4, the hatch closed and the vessel rose back into the air. The engines fired with a roar of blue flame as the hovercraft shot southwest toward central Alexandria, where an inevitable standoff with the most powerful and feared officer of the Great Army awaited.

  36

  301’s ENCOUNTERS WITH GRAND Admiral Donalson had been limited since his rise into Specter, for which he considered himself fortunate. While the grand admiral normally took up residence in Alexandria, the Roman rebellion and its aftermath had moved him to Italy for the better part of two years. But now those obligations were over, and he would no doubt be trying to reestablish his dominance in the city. Countermanding 301’s interrogation order was just a small part of that.

  For 301, however, Donalson was interfering with a three month long investigation into the movements of the benefactor network—an action that was anything but small. He wouldn’t allow Specter to be sidelined in a jurisdiction battle with the Great Army, no matter how angry or territorial the grand admiral became.

  He instructed the pilot to drop off the other Specters at the Spire first, and after a short altercation the pilot agreed. Loyalty to the Great Army’s command structure was so ingrained in his psyche that it was tantamount to heresy for him to delay following the grand admiral’s order for even a moment, much less give Specter the opportunity to take back the prisoner by force. But 301 had no desire to do anything that would bring the grand admiral to the Spire—if there was a turf war to be waged, it should take place at the palace.

  The Halo-4 descended upon the Crown Section landing pad with only 301, Derek, and the captive major inside, and the Specter Captain felt an odd sense of nostalgia. It seemed so long ago when he was first brought to the palace, a dead man by all accounts, to appear before the Ruling Council. In reality it had only been three months, but so much had changed in that time—in the world, and in him.

  But instead of Premier Sullivan greeting him with mournful pity, Grand Admiral Donalson waited with a detail of five heavily armed soldiers, their weapons drawn in an obvious display of force. Even before the Halo touched down, 301 could sense the grand admiral’s anger. The pilot must have already relayed Specter’s intentions—he would have to speak with McCall about compartmentalizing information more effectively later.

  The rebel major, who had started coming to after their liftoff from the Spire, jerked awake with the Halo’s soft landing. His eyes widened in fear as he realized first that he was still alive, and then saw where they were. He tried to move, but cuffs bound his hands behind his back. He saw Derek’s green Gladius hanging on the Specter’s belt nearby and looked at it longingly.

  “Easy, Major,” 301 said. “Even if you got hold of that, even if you managed to kill us and every man on that roof, you would never make it out of here alive. Trust me when I say that now is the time for cooperation, not resistance.”

  The doors on the hull opened wide, exposing them to high-altitude winds, and Derek pulled the major up from his seat to lead him outside. 301 followed close behind with one hand on Calumnior, as much for the sake of the grand admiral and his soldiers as for their prisoner.

  “Specter Captain,” Donalson spoke grimly. “I take it you are delivering the prisoner as I have ordered?”

  “We’ve accepted your offer to assist Specter with the interrogation,” 301 clarified. “And in return we offer you the courtesy of conducting the interrogation here, at the palace.”

  Donalson sneered, “The only courtesy I need from you, gentlemen, is to hand over the prisoner and return to the Spire. You will be informed of my results, if they concern you.”

  “I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding,” 301 went on. “This man is Specter’s prisoner, and you will not interrogate him unless Specter Blaine and I are present.”

  The smile on the grand admiral’s face faded, and an angry fire rose into his eyes, “My orders are non-negotiable, Specter Captain, and if you value your life you will follow them.”

  “Specter is not under your command, Grand Admiral, in case you’ve forgotten. And as for our lives, I think you will find them difficult to take—certainly with the amount of men you’ve brought to intimidate us.”

  “Careful, Captain,” Donalson warned. “There are many ways to destroy a man. I don’t need to kill you to put you out of the way. You would do well to remember that I command the entire breadth of the World System’s armed forces. You are nothing but a speck of sand in the Wasteland to me. Now, hand over the prisoner!”

  “Specter Blaine, please return the major to the hovercraft,” 301 said indifferently. “The grand admiral has withdrawn his desire to be part of a joint investigation. We’ll take care of matters at the Spire.”

  Derek did not hesitate to follow 301’s order—thankfully. He needed solidarity to shine forth clearly in his unit. The Specter Captain watched with amusement as Donalson’s confidence faltered. He had only begun to realize that 301 was not bluffing.

  “Wait,” Donalson said in a more conciliatory tone. Derek paused, but made a point not to watch the grand admiral for instructions. Instead, he looked to 301. Donalson’s eyes shifted between them, to the rebel, and then to the Spectral Gladii at the Specters’ sides. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Bring him in, and we will work on this one together.”

  301 nodded at Derek, who turned back around and led the prisoner into the hands of Donalson’s guards. Two of them shouldered their weapons and pushed him roughly toward the entrance. Derek followed closely so as not to give them the opportunity to go back on their word, leaving 301 on the roof alone with Grand Admiral Donalson.

  “So what’s our play here, Specter Captain?” he asked, obviously frustrated at the need for the discussion. “We each take a turn, or we all go in and overwhelm him?”

  “Perform the interrogation to your heart’s content,” 301 said. “All we want is to be there to observe, so we can appropriate any intelligence you gain into our investigation.”

  “I see,” the grand admiral smiled. “Well, if I’d known all you wanted to do was watch…”

  “Your reputation as an interrogator precedes you, Grand Admiral. We have no intention of getting in your way, but we can support you with intel that will help with your questioning.”

  Donalson’s anger subsided, though his animosity remained, “Such as?”

  “The major claims his mission was to ambush us to deliver yet another message to the MWR, just like Sawyer did with me three months ago. I believe he was lying to cover up their true goal.”

  “I’ll beat the truth out of him, you can be sure of that.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re asking the right questions,” 301 said. “He’ll be more intimidated if we go in with better knowledge of their plan than he thinks we have. Specter is analyzing the box passed to the rebels at the drop point to determine what if anything was inside, and they are also running his DNA and fingerprints. He’s older, so I assume he served in an Old World military group. That should allow us to identify him and may provide us with an advantage.”

  “In my experience, Captain, brute force works just as well as any strategy.”

  “And how many Silent Thunder rebels have you broken?”

  Donalson stared at him grimly,
which gave 301 the answer he expected: none.

  “The only way to break them is through empathetic suffering,” 301 insisted. “Trust me on this.”

  “I suppose you would know best,” Donalson spat. “Having lived with one for a full six weeks.”

  The Specter Captain ignored the slight, “Are we going to discuss this out here all day, Grand Admiral, or are we going to get to work? Specter should have something for us by the time the major is prepped.”

  Donalson stepped aside and motioned toward the door in mock deference, “After you then, o wise Specter Captain. I wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”

  -X-

  After six weeks of preparation, Grace was getting anxious. Life in the Silent Thunder command center took some getting used to after the luxury of the palace—even though her current accommodations proved nicer than anything she remembered from her time in the Wilderness. Another huge adjustment had been concealing information from her father, something she had never been given cause to do before. It left her with a constant feeling of guilt. But if there was one thing she had learned in six weeks it was that Crenshaw was right to hide the truth, at least for a time. The operatives and commanders of Silent Thunder—her father included—just weren’t ready for it. The revelation would change everything for them, and such an upheaval in that tumultuous a time could bring them to ruin.

  So she and Crenshaw conspired behind her father’s back to bring the general’s plan to fruition, a plan that she soon realized he couldn’t possibly accomplish without her. So much of it depended on 301’s connection to her, and the assumption he would still feel the same when they met again. She had high hopes, but they were mixed with even stronger doubts. After all, he had his chance to come with her before, didn’t he? He chose to go back to the System despite the danger, so how could she expect him to change his mind now?