The Solar War (The Long Winter Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  I glance once more at the boring machine eating the earth, then turn and follow Brightwell out of the command post, my feet pounding the corridor’s concrete floor. Gunfire roars in the distance. The fighting is right outside the warehouse. Then the outer walls crumble as the vehicles slam into them. Right now, enemy troops are pouring into this building.

  Brightwell brings the radio to her mouth. “All positions, fire!”

  The sound of gunfire echoes across the warehouse. But it’s just that: sound, coming from the car speakers we’ve deployed. It’s enough to trick our enemies. They return fire in all directions, no doubt scrambling for cover.

  In the flat hiding the tunnel’s entrance, the last of our troops are waiting. Harry, Min, and their people haven’t gotten here yet. Neither has Grigory. I hope they’re on their way.

  The plan is simple: the last soldiers down will untie the rope from the ceiling and affix it to the cover we’ve fashioned for the hole: a large rug with habitat parts on the bottom. Anyone glancing at the flat won’t think twice. But if they walk across the rug, it will creak, and concrete floors don’t creak. I hope it will be enough to keep us hidden.

  I grab the rope and rappel down. At the bottom of the shaft, I surge into the darkness, following the footsteps ahead of me, my mind reciting the mnemonic: CABA BABA. The tunnel is dark and feels endless, as if I’m in a loop where I keep running into the same fork with three exits.

  I charge forward, past the side tunnel that leads to my wife and children, sleeping through this carnage and the madness soon to come.

  Ahead, dim light lances through the tunnel, the moon shining into this man-made cave. We’ve done it. The boring machine has surfaced.

  I feel the tunnel incline upward. I run faster, smelling the cold night air.

  Hundreds of AU Army troops are hunkered down on both sides of the tunnel, guns ready, like paratroopers on a massive plane ready to be dropped beyond enemy lines. That’s exactly what this tunnel will do.

  Brightwell charges past them and breaches the surface.

  A platoon of soldiers is dug into the snow, using it for cover. The boring machine lies off to the side, its top below the surface ice. I peek over the top. The enemy camp is less than fifty yards from us.

  Crouching, Brightwell turns to me and whispers, “Sir?”

  “Proceed, Colonel.”

  With a quick head motion from her, the troops surge out of the trench and onto the icy plain, barreling toward the domed habitats and few remaining vehicles.

  We’re utterly exposed now, with nothing to take cover behind.

  I draw the sidearm from my heavy winter coat.

  Brightwell looks back. “Stay here, sir.”

  “I’m not watching from here,” I whisper to her. “I made this mess. I’m going to help clean it up.”

  She nods, sensing that I won’t take no for an answer. Shoulder to shoulder, we climb out onto the plain. A gust of wind drills through my clothes, making me shake even more than my nerves.

  There are about twenty soldiers in front of me, roughly four hundred behind me, and five hundred civilians buried in the tunnel. Their fate is in our hands. We had four choices of locations to exit the tunnel. Cardinal directions. We chose west. It has the most troops, and I’m guessing it houses the command post. Chandler’s here. I can feel it.

  I brace for the confrontation, but as we dash across the open plain, no bullets fly our way. Our enemy is focused forward, on the warehouse and plant and the fighting they think is happening there. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But if I’m right, it has taken them a while to realize that.

  The first of our troops reach the threshold of their camp, but still, not a single shot reaches us. No enemy turns to face us. They’ve pushed everything forward. But I bet the leadership is still here with a small guard contingent, watching the battle in safety.

  The enemy command post is easily identifiable from the tracks leading to and from it and the screens inside. The CP is actually two domed habitats joined together. I expect our troops to rush in but they slow as they reach it, several soldiers crouching in the snow by the door that lies open. A dozen figures are milling about inside, watching a bank of screens that show video feeds from their troops. I recognize the inside of the warehouse.

  When Brightwell is twenty feet from the command post entrance, our troops turn and pour in, guns firing, taking out the uniformed soldiers.

  Across the western camp, more shots echo in the night as the other habitats are breached.

  In the command post, the fighting is over in seconds. It was a turkey shoot. The civilians spin around, shocked looks on their face. Around the room, they raise their trembling hands.

  I scan the screens, looking for any clues as to what exactly is happening in the warehouse. A man’s voice calls out over the command post speakers: “The gunfire is a recording. They’re using the speakers from the vehicles. Have yet to engage hostiles. Commencing door-to-door search.”

  In the center of the group, Richard Chandler stands with his hands to his side, eyes burning as he stares at me.

  “It’s over, Richard.”

  He swallows and his voice comes out neutral, the confidence and condescension gone. “This was only a negotiating tactic. Nothing more.”

  “This doesn’t feel like a negotiation.”

  Chandler moves a handheld radio to his mouth. “I’ll prove it. I’ll call them off.”

  I reach into my pocket and draw out the small remote that Grigory built. I slide the cover back, revealing a button. As if on cue, an enemy soldier calls over the radio.

  “We’ve found what we think is a large IED. It’s a converted water heater. CP, please advise.”

  Chandler reels back, scanning the video feeds; then he turns, his face horrified. “Don’t do this, James. This isn’t the kind of civilization you’re trying to create.”

  “No. It isn’t. You brought this war to us, Richard. I’m finishing it. The civilization I want begins after this.”

  Staring at Chandler, I press the button.

  The boom is deafening. The blast rocks the small command post.

  Chandler recovers first. He grabs a sidearm from the floor and brings it up quickly.

  But I’m quicker.

  Chapter 68

  Emma

  My eyes are open, but I see only blackness. I can’t feel my body. The sensation is nauseating, like floating in a void where my consciousness has no body.

  Slowly, feeling returns, first to my face. Air flows across my nose and cheeks, tingling, cold. There’s no smell, only a faint hissing.

  The tips of my fingers tingle. It’s as if control of my body is being restored from my extremities inward. I reach up and touch my belly. The child is still there. My eyes fill with tears when I feel a sharp kick. He’s waking up too.

  I hear a zipping sound above my head, and blinding light flows into the stasis sleeve. I shut my eyes and feel hands gripping beneath my armpits, dragging me out. Cold air engulfs me. Someone wraps a thick blanket around me and lifts me up, placing me on a soft bed. I crack my eyes open, ignoring the pain from the light. James peers down at me.

  “How was it?”

  “Weird.”

  He smiles and I can see the relief in his face. And exhaustion. The lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes are deeper now, as if the time since I last saw him has aged him, the experience leaving deep ruts in its wake.

  My vision has returned enough for me to scan the room. I’m in the infirmary at CENTCOM. So we escaped the warehouse. How?

  “Where are Allie and Sam?”

  “I wanted to wake you up before them.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “About a month.”

  The news is a shock. A hundred questions run through my mind. I try to push up on my elbows, but my arms feel like Jell-O.

  James places a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, take it easy.”

  “A month? What happened?”

  “W
e put all of the civilians in stasis and manufactured the remaining capsules. We’re already transporting people up to the ships. Madison and Alex and their families went up yesterday.”

  “No, I mean what happened to the army outside Camp Nine?”

  The weary smile on his face vanishes as he breaks eye contact. “No longer an issue.”

  “How?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Did you negotiate a peace?”

  “No.”

  “You fought them.”

  “Yes,” he responds quietly.

  I stare at him, but he doesn’t say any more, only stares at the floor.

  “Were you hurt? Are you hurt?”

  “I was barely involved.”

  I’d bet he was all too involved. Whatever happened in the month while I was in stasis, it has left a mark upon him. Gone is the quiet optimism he had even in the darkest moments of the Long Winter.

  Maybe it wasn’t the battle at Camp Nine that has changed him. Maybe it’s what he has to do now, the dark event we’ve planned—and dreaded for months.

  “The lottery?” I ask softly.

  “We won’t need it.”

  “How?”

  “We have room for everyone.”

  “How, James?”

  “Chandler’s troops that were laying siege in Camp Nine… they were all lost.”

  I wait, but he says nothing more. All lost. The armies laying siege had thousands of troops. All lost. That is indeed what has taken its toll on my husband. Only someone who knows him as well as I do can see it.

  During the Long Winter, he and I have lost people. When we made contact with the Beta artifact, the entire crew of the Fornax was killed. We lost even more crew members at the Battle of Ceres. That hit James hard. This is worse. There’s a difference between losing a comrade and taking a life.

  “Don’t let it change you.”

  “It’s too late for me. But not for our kids. They’ll grow up on a new world. Things will be different there.”

  Three days later, I sit in the bed in the infirmary, clutching our newborn to my chest. James sits in the chair beside me, holding my hand, head down: exhausted, like me; relieved, just as I am.

  In a strange sort of way, I feel as if I’m returning to the beginning of my life together with James. After the Battle of Ceres, we returned to an Earth that was thawing from the Long Winter, when the planet felt new again and when anything was possible. We built a life that was the happiest I had ever been. Then Allie was born. She changed everything for us. For the better. Now, I sense what is another new beginning for us—with another newborn, and soon, on another new world.

  He releases my hand and stands.

  “Be right back.”

  Our son shifts slightly, sliding a hand across my chest as if trying to hug me. We have named him Carson, after James’s father.

  I think the birth of our son means something very important to James. To him, it’s like coming full circle. The death of his father opened the floodgate on all of his problems. He did something extreme to save his father, and the world punished him. I sense that whatever he had to do to save us—and his son—was equally dark. But this time, the world will celebrate him.

  Despite the thick blankets around me and warm air hissing from the overhead ducts, I’m still cold. I imagine the world outside is frozen now and almost entirely dark.

  Our time on Earth is at an end.

  I hear footsteps beyond the curtain. A second later, James draws it back, peers in, then says, “Go on, but be careful.”

  Sam and Allie burst through and hug me, a little recklessly.

  James stands and watches, smiling, looking almost like his old self. Probably as close as he’ll ever get.

  Ten months ago, when the asteroids fell and the world was destroyed, I couldn’t imagine how we would live to see this day—the birth of our son. But here we are—all alive and together, with a chance to start over on a new world where we’ll be safe. I know what carried me through the darkness: faith that there was light on the other side.

  We’re leaving the darkness behind, on this shadowed world where soon the sun will never shine again.

  The next sunrise I see will be on a new world, one where all of our children will have a future.

  It is darkest before the dawn, and as I hug all three of my children, a tear slips from my eye because I know the darkness will soon be over.

  Chapter 69

  James

  The ships are almost loaded. We’ve plotted different courses for each vessel. Taking two different routes will mean the ships will arrive at Eos at different times, perhaps years apart. But it drastically increases our chances of survival. If one ship runs into trouble and doesn’t make it, the other might survive.

  The tough part has been deciding who will be on each ship. Some of the choices are obvious: Harry and I need to be on different ships. Couples and families will stay together, which means Min and Izumi will be on the same ship. After some debate, we’ve determined that the Carthage will carry Fowler, Harry, Charlotte, and Earls. Jericho will house Emma, Grigory, Brightwell, Izumi, Min, and myself. Arthur will board Jericho as well and will be guarded until he is jettisoned near the asteroid belt.

  Brightwell has insisted she oversee his custody. Like me, she fears that he will betray us at the final hour. Indeed, the grid double-crossing us is our greatest danger now—and I fear that the odds of that happening are significant.

  The other piece of the puzzle is the death of the two soldiers who were guarding launch control. The mystery has haunted me, my thoughts increasingly returning to it. I have formed a theory about why it happened, though I have told no one. I can’t prove my theory—yet—and revealing my suspicions could throw us into chaos. For now, I’m staying quiet.

  The personnel on the ISS have been transferred to the Jericho and are in stasis. With them aboard, once the rest of us reach the ships and leave the solar system, there won’t be a living human on Earth or in orbit.

  With the extra room on the ship, we’re able to take along a seedbank and a collection of frozen animal embryos. Our hope is that the indigenous flora and fauna on Eos will sustain human life. That’s the best-case scenario. Introducing alien life—ie, plants and animals from Earth—on our new homeworld is a last resort, but one we may have to take if the planet won’t support us.

  The final dinner among our team is a somber event, everyone sitting around the conference table in the CENTCOM situation room, eating what are some of the last MREs on Earth (most of what we have left has already been sent to the ships and putting our people in stasis made our food supply last longer).

  Harry manages some levity, filling the long silences with stories. At the end, the Carthage crewmembers move to the door, to the troop carriers waiting to transport them to the launch ring.

  I hug Charlotte, and whisper, “If you beat us there, be careful. And make them listen to you if you find anything strange on Eos.”

  She nods, eyes welling with tears, apparently not trusting her voice. She gently embraces Emma, who’s holding Carson to her chest.

  Earls holds out one of his massive hands and shakes mine with a force I fear will crush my bones. “It was an honor, sir.”

  “The honor was mine. Take care of them out there.”

  Harry reaches up and pinches my cheek. “Here’s looking at you, kid. We’ll always have the Citadel.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Hopefully we’ll have somewhere better than that soon.”

  He sighs with mock seriousness. “Yeah. Here’s to brighter days ahead.”

  I smile. “I see what you did there. I’m going to miss you, Harry.”

  “Same here.”

  Fowler stops short of the door and stares into my eyes. “They’re your people now, James.” A pause, then: “What you did at Camp Nine to save us… there’s not another mind on Earth that could have come up with it.”

  “I don’t know about that.”


  “I do. Trust your instincts. You’re in charge for a reason.”

  When they’ve gone, I return to the infirmary where Emma is nursing Carson. Izumi wanted us to wait ten days after his birth to launch. That gives us another two days in this frigid lair, but it’s kind of nice, just Emma, me, the kids, and a skeleton crew. It feels as though we have the world to ourselves. Technically, we do.

  In the infirmary, Emma and I sit silently, listening to Sam and Allie play hide and seek in the sea of cubicles, their laughter echoing in all directions.

  “Need anything?” I ask.

  Emma smiles as she watches Carson. “No. I’ve got everything I need.”

  The following morning, I find Grigory in the situation room, running simulations on the ship. This seems to be his only hobby at this point.

  “I need your help with something.”

  “Okay,” he says, not looking up.

  “I need you to build me a weapon.”

  That gets his attention. “What kind?”

  “Handheld. An energy weapon.”

  He squints. I think maybe he’s figured it out. I hope not. “Where will it be used?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He smiles, as though he can see through the lie. “What’s the required energy output?”

  When I tell him, he nods enthusiastically. “Yes, James. I will gladly make this weapon for you.”

  He’s come to the wrong conclusion about why I need it. But that’s a lot better than him guessing the truth.

  In the infirmary, the child-size stasis sleeves lie on the gurneys, ready for their passengers.

  “Don’t want to,” Allie says.

  I squat down to face her at eye level. “You have to, sweetie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re taking a long, long journey. The sleeve is going to help you sleep through all of it. It’s like a very special sleeping bag.”

  “How long?”