by Sean McFate
“Jinx?” asked Control.
“Negative, Control,” she said. “We need an assist. Outnumbered.”
The SUVs fanned out across the gigantic lawn, running over antipersonnel mines while trying to catch and crush her between two vehicles. Jinx scanned the terrain. There was nowhere to run.
“Roger,” said Control after a pause. “We have no reinforcements.”
Ahead, Jinx saw the last of her bikes disappear into an eight-foot-high hedgerow. Where did they go? she wondered, and opened the throttle. The SUVs followed.
“Copy, Control,” she said, speeding for the hedge row, and saw the entrance. Then she understood; it was a garden maze, the kind made of hedges that occupied an entire acre. She entered the maze and skid-turned around the corners. The lead SUV followed and crashed into the ancient hedges, stuck. Jinx smiled.
“Valkyrie, status over?” said Jinx, muscling the bike around ninety-degree turns. She heard shooting a few hedges over.
“We’re eight, I think. Lost in this goddamned maze with the enemy!”
“Me too.”
The library was a hive of intensity as techs worked their stations. Outside was a hurricane of explosions and automatic gunfire, with the occasional shriek of a Hunter drone. The mansion’s interior had become a battle zone, and more of Winters’s reinforcements streamed in by the minute.
“Everyone, to the mansion!” ordered Winters, smiling. It was a war of attrition now, guaranteeing his victory. The battle captain nodded in affirmation while speaking into two different headsets. Yuri was last seen slinging his AKM rifle and GP-25 grenade launcher over his shoulder and leaving the room with two other Wagner mercenaries. The battle got louder, and closer.
Yuri’s got a point, thought Winters, admiring the Russian’s leadership. Time to get in the fight. Pulling out an ampule, he stuck it up his nose and snorted the Mr. Hyde Dust. Instantly his body tensed up, and his cane dropped to the ground. His heart pounded in pain, like it might burst, but he ignored it. He exhaled loudly but no one noticed in the fervor of battle.
“Yeeessss!” he roared, standing up. The ache in his leg faded as he limped over to a large weapons case in the corner. He flipped open the lid and removed a precision-guided grenade launcher. It looked like a revolver for 40 mm grenades, and it could sniper-fire six of them in five seconds. Winters held it, admiring its weight as he aimed through the reflex sight. Next to it sat a field bag of medium-velocity, high-explosive rounds. He slung the whole bag over his shoulder.
“Tom Locke,” he said, lumbering out of the room.
“Tye, where are you?” I panted, bounding down the stone stairs two at a time. Jen would be OK, I reasoned, because she was . . . Jen. Also, Valkyrie was her battle buddy, who I only knew by reputation: she was bulletproof.
“Here! Over here,” said Tye, and a green dot blinked on my HUD. The stairs dumped into a vaulted hall that overlooked an elegant four-story atrium with multiple rooms off balconied hallways. Four large chandeliers hung from the coffered ceiling, with bullets zooming through them. Wagner and Apollo were in a three-dimensional firefight, shooting across the atrium from different levels.
“Incoming!” shouted Tye.
I reflexively hit the floor. An RPG rocketed over my head, blowing out a wall at the far end of the hall.
“Are you OK?”
“Roger,” I said, spotting Tye pinned down in a vestibule closet. Enemy were swarming the opposite side, and several IR laser dots danced around the vestibule entrance, ready to kill whatever stepped out. But that wasn’t the biggest problem.
“Take out the RPG!” said Tye.
I high-crawled to the marble railing and used my weapon’s scope to scan for the RPG. I saw two Wagner mercenaries running across the ground floor and get whacked by an Apollo sniper in the rafters. I scanned right and spotted a Wagner fire team assault into a room, blowing it up.
No one could survive that, I thought sadly. Then I located Lava one floor below. He was firing his pistol into a room, until it ran dry. He threw it at the target, and ran inside, knife drawn.
It’s Stalingrad down there, I realized, except there’s a lot more of them than us. I continued to scan. On the third floor, I spotted two Wagner commandos running from room to room; one carried an RPG.
That’s my target, I thought, as I picked up and sprinted toward a staircase, using speed as my cover. Bullets ricocheted around me as I skidded across the marble floor and down the stairwell, my weapon facing forward.
Turning the corner, I ran down the third-floor balcony hallway, bullets everywhere, and slid to a stop by the door where I last saw the RPG. Holding my rifle parallel to my chest, I stuck it into the room and saw one of the Wagner troops in my HUD. I locked on and fired; he fell. The other spun and shot at me. I tossed in a grenade, and took cover. Where there was once a room was now a pile of bricks covering antique furniture and two Wagner bodies.
“Thanks, Locke,” said Tye.
“Hold fast. I’m coming to you.”
“Negative. I can take care of myself. Find Lava, he needs backup,” said Tye. I could hear him shoot and move as we talked.
“Copy,” I said, sneaking around the atrium perimeter with my weapon at the ready. I slipped into the room I saw Lava enter, but it was empty. There were signs of an intense firefight: bullet holes, spent cartridges, bodies. I followed the blood trail through a Versailles-like bedroom and down an interior hallway.
“Lava?” I asked. “Find Lava,” I commanded my HUD, and it enlarged a green dot next to two red ones. He was in close combat. I ran down the hall, rounded a corner of another palatial bedroom, and then felt myself picked up and thrown through a standing mirror.
What . . . ?! My mind raced as my body got to its feet and raised my rifle. Powerful hands yanked it away and threw it across the room, then slammed me into the floor so hard my helmet busted through the plaster. Looking up, I saw a colossus of a Russian with a week-old beard and gray peppered hair.
“My mercenaries have killed many of you,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “You will die, like your friends.”
“Not today,” I said, pulling my knife. But the Russian colossus anticipated it, grabbed my forearm and tossed me across the room and into an armoire.
Ow, I thought, writhing on my back. Heavy footsteps approached, and the man appeared above me, brandishing a fire poker like an iron stake.
“Wagner better than Apollo. Let me show you,” he said, raising it to impale me. Another hulking figure tackled him, and both crashed through a Chippendale letter desk. I got to my feet and recovered my weapon as Lava picked the Russian up and rammed him through the bathroom door.
“Lava, stand back!” I cried, aiming my rifle at the Russian behind him.
“No, Yuri’s mine!” he commanded. “Blood debt. Now go!” He waved at an open door that blended into the wall. It was the secret passage he’d entered through. “Find Winters. Kill him!”
The Russian howled and tackled Lava from behind, but Lava tossed Yuri with a judo throw. Last I saw, both colossuses were punching it out as I disappeared down the secret passage to find Winters.
Lin fired her Saiga from the back of the dirt bike like a rear turret gunner, as Valkyrie bounced around corners. They had been playing deadly hide-and-seek for five eternal minutes, and ammo was getting low.
“He’s still on us,” cried Valkyrie as they sped toward a dead end.
“I know,” replied Lin, slamming the last magazine in the Saiga.
The enemy dirt bike made the corner as Valkyrie slammed the brakes. Like so much of the garden maze, the dead end revealed a 180-degree turn, and she skidded around it, planting her right foot like a pivot. Dirt and stone kicked up as she accelerated down the opposite side the hedge wall.
Lin was ready with her Saiga, and she aimed it at the hedges. As soon as the enemy passed the other side, she squeezed, and automatic shotgun fire blew a lateral gash through the hedge wall. Then came the thud of a body hitting dirt
.
“Nice job, Princess,” said Valkyrie. It was their fourth kill in five minutes. To Lin’s amazement, they made a good team.
“Thanks,” said Lin.
“Now to get out of this infernal maze,” she said, zooming up and down the corridors. The hedges were impossible to walk through, their little branches deceptively strong.
“Valkyrie, this is Jinx. How copy?”
“Charlie miking,” she said. All was OK.
“Get to the mansion. They need help badly.”
“Good copy,” said Valkyrie. By now the mansion was burning, casting a red glow in the sky. No fire trucks could save it because Winters had sealed the estate.
“Head toward the glow,” said Lin.
Valkyrie nodded. “Seems your boyfriend needs saving.”
“Don’t they all?” joked Lin, and they both chuckled.
Minutes later they were out. The fight had left the great lawn and moved to the mansion’s interior. Only the occasional burning hulks of ex-drones littered the otherwise pristine grounds. The building fire was impressive in a terrifying way. The century-old structure made of wood and stone was engulfed in flame.
Valkyrie drove through the garden and up the stairs, to the wedding-sized patio overlooking the sound, and skidded to a stop. Lin leapt off.
“Hey, wait!” shouted Valkyrie. “Where are you going?! The building is falling down.”
“No time. Boyfriend needs saving.”
“Locke! Locke! Locke!” It was Winters, his voice wafting through the secret passage, as if he knew where to find me. “Locke, I know you are nearby. I see you on my monitor.”
I froze, realizing he must have locked onto the nanotech streaming through my veins just as Tye did when he found me at the hotel. I hate technology, I thought.
“What’s the matter Locke, scared? Show yourself!” taunted Winters.
I continued to move. Winters wasn’t the only one craving this moment; I had come out of hiding and risked everything for it. I followed the voice’s echo through the secret passages, despite the ongoing noise of battle.
Dead end.
“Locke, I know you are close by,” shouted Winters from the other side of the wall. Examining the passage, I noticed a faint breeze emanating from the corners. On the floor were century-old scuff marks.
Another secret door, I realized. Searching around, I discovered a handle and pulled at the door. It opened onto a covered wooden balcony at the rear of a magnificent banqueting hall, the kind you might see at Oxford, except it was lined with suits of medieval armor, part of the estate’s gilded charm.
“Locke, where are you?” shouted Winters from below, louder. I crept forward onto the balcony, probably where the musicians played for the lord’s dining delight. Using the rifle’s scope, I peered over the balcony’s edge. The three-story walls were blanketed in colorful murals of kings, knights, princesses, cities, battles, and Jerusalem. Every mural contained eight-pointed stars, some overt and others hidden. Even the coffered ceiling was covered in eight-pointed star ornamentations.
At the far end of the hall was a hearth the size of a horse with a roaring bonfire casting shadows around the great hall. Above it was a painting of an enthroned king in full eight-star regalia, holding court over all who dined in the hall. To his left and right were murals of full-sized jousters, also in star regalia, tilting their lances toward each other.
“Locke, don’t be a coward!” goaded Winters.
Then I spotted him pacing atop the massive banquet table, almost inviting a headshot. He wore advanced tactical goggles and carried a weapon that looked like a cross between a grenade launcher and a .45 revolver.
Finally, I can end this nightmare, I thought as I lay on my back and held my weapon up to get a target lock on his torso. Steady, I told myself, as the site picture jiggled as I zoomed. It was like shooting around a corner, and I could not get a clean target lock.
“Locke?” asked Winters, stopping but not facing me. “Locke, is that you?” He placed the weapon on his shoulder, rocked it back toward me, and fired.
Incoming! My mind panicked as I rolled sideways, and the balcony was blown to smithereens. The concussion threw me down the servants’ narrow stairwell to the first floor. Looking up dazed, I saw an eight-pointed star painted on the ceiling. I was in the banquet hall’s antechamber on the floor below, but hidden from Winters.
“I know you’re still here,” cried Winters.
I heard a thunk and rolled for cover. The banquet hall’s main doors exploded into wooden shards, and the blast wave concussed me. The body armor offered protection, but I would not survive a direct hit.
“Locke, come out and fight. You were a fool, but never a coward.”
Pointing my weapon around the corner, I saw Winters scanning for me. He wore no visible body armor, just a Jermyn Street bespoke suit, Hermes tie, and grenade launcher. Classic Winters.
Thunk. I spun away from the wall but too late. The grenade impacted the other side of the stone wall, throwing it and me to the other side of the antechamber. I bounced off the back wall, breathing through the pain. Through the new hole, I saw Winters and he saw me.
“Locke!” he said, aiming the grenade launcher at me. But I was quicker. I snapped off a round and he fell backward, off his feet and onto the floor. Thunk. His weapon fired up as he fell, and the ceiling exploded. Chunks of concrete, brick, and timber crashed into the hall.
Warily, I got up, ignoring the pain, and approached the pile of rubble where Winters once stood, weapon pointed forward. Dead, finally! I thought with a smile.
Thunk. I dropped and felt the zing of a round pass above my head and explode the wall behind me. Then coughing from under the rubble.
Winters is still alive! Impossible, I thought, not understanding. He must have had some new reactive chest armor under his shirt. The coughing came from under the oak banquet table, shielding him from the ceiling’s demise.
“Come on Locke, show yourself. Tell me the gods have been merciful and granted me revenge,” he said in a rational tone.
“Revenge is mine, old man,” I said.
“Lo-o-o-o-o-ocke,” hissed Winters. I heard bricks move, and suddenly Winters was standing ten feet before me, aiming his grenade launcher at me. I leapt sideways as I heard the thunk. Another portion of the wall blew out, and the roof timbers began to creek as the structure weakened. Flames licked the hall’s wooden paneling.
“You’re out of ammo, old man,” I said, noting the grenade launcher’s six-shell cylinder.
“No matter, Locke,” he said, tossing it away and holding up his fists. “Why should a guy like you be afraid of an old man like me?”
My weapon was trained on his chest. Do it, I told myself. Do it! But I couldn’t. Winters did not deserve a clean death, not after killing 230 Americans, assassinating the vice president, and threatening to nuke three U.S. cities. It was why I came back.
“You stand guilty of high treason,” I said, taking off my helmet. “A bullet in the head would be too good for you.” I dropped my rifle. “I have returned to render justice.” I tossed my mini-shotgun. “My way.”
Winters smiled as I took up a fighting stance. We circled. The banquet hall was on fire and coming down around us, giving a hellish appearance, but neither of us noticed.
He jabbed with shocking speed, and sucker-punched my throat, followed by a cross elbow to the jaw, knocking me sideways and off my feet. Where did that come from? I thought, surprised and seeing stars. Winters grunted as he kicked me hard in the stomach. I felt it through the body armor, paralyzing my diaphragm so I could not breathe. Turning red, I rolled over and sipped air.
Winters snorted as he bent down and picked up my shotgun. “You were my biggest disappointment, Locke,” he said, aiming the shotgun at my face. “So much wasted potential.”
I raised my forearms to my face, arms clasped tightly together, as I heard the shot. The pellets deflected off my body armor, pushing my forearms into my head. Winters
unloaded the shotgun, pumping its action in rapid succession. Each shot was a body blow, but none of the pellets penetrated the armor.
“Damn you, Locke!” he screamed, throwing the shotgun at me as I stood up.
“I condemn you to death for high treason,” I said, walking slowly toward him. With every step I took, he limped backward one, bumping into wood-hewn chairs and a drinks cart. Finally, he stopped, sandwiched between me and the massive stone hearth, its fires blazing. He turned to face it, then me. He was cornered.
Winters’s expression softened. “There is no honor in killing an old man, Tom. Take me into custody. Let the law decide. It’s the honorable thing to do.”
“We are past honor,” I said, and roundhouse-kicked him into the fire. The man screamed and thrashed as the inferno consumed him. I grabbed a dusty bottle of brandy off the drinks cart and sprayed it on him; it caught fire midair, like unholy water. Flames shot up from his clothes and face, blinding him. Hoping to escape hell but unable to see, he bolted into the back wall of the ten-foot fireplace and smacked his skull on the stone, then fell backward onto the fire again. The shrieks were gruesome.
Only now did I feel pity for the man who tried to murder me three times. I walked to a suit of armor and jerked away a large Zweihänder sword, leaving the suit to collapse in a jarring clang as I walked back to the screaming fire, where the burning man tried to stand. Stepping halfway into the flames, I thrust the sword through Winters’s chest, pinning him to the back wall. A moment later, I withdrew it and his body collapsed onto the fire. I watched it burn, ignoring the stench.
The hall started collapsing around me, on fire itself. However, I could not break my gaze; I needed proof the flames would claim this devil. The body lay motionless, consumed by flame. Satisfied, I walked through the burning hall, as timber beams groaned above, having suffered too much destruction. Picking up my helmet and rifle, I walked out of the great hall, down a passage, and into the library. It had been converted into a tactical operations center, but its occupants had fled. The battle must be over. I paused to admire the temple to books before it perished. Flames were already licking at the bottom rows.