by Sam Bradbury
Rico was right. We met resistance, but with nothing like the ferocity of before. Possibly they were scrambling an aerial assault on our retreating Intruders (let them try – Jammer and Co. would be ghosts before the first pilot strapped on his helmet) or maybe sending infantry after them along the harbour (let them try …), but we got no more than the usual guards, and we moved quickly enough to take them, the firefight short and sweet, before occupying the cable-car station – just as a car descended. Paavola and Schofield stayed outside as me and Rico took up position either side of the door, and I controlled my breathing, which clouded in the freezing air. How many would they send?
The cable car clanked to a halt, swinging for a moment before the door sighed open and I got to find out how many men we were worth.
Assholes. They sent just two of them. Either comms were down between here and the main facility or they were seriously undermanned. Either way I wasn’t bitching. We took them down the minute they stepped out of the cable car. One each. Quick and ruthless.
I was standing over my guy – dealing with that same sickening feeling – when his comlink crackled, his command wanting a status report.
‘Vigilant Base to Argus Two. Vigilant to Argus Two. Come in. Over.’
I looked at Rico. He looked at me.
‘Argus Two,’ came the call, more insistent this time. ‘I repeat, this is Vigilant. Do you copy? Over.’
I reached for his mask and pulled it to me, suddenly aware of the dead man who had worn it, the last of his warmth ebbing away.
I cleared my throat and, doing my best impersonation of a Hig grunt, replied, ‘Area secure, Vigilant. All enemies eliminated.’
Rico raised an eyebrow, amused at my sudden transformation to Helghast.
‘Copy that,’ came the reply. ‘Return to base, Argus.’
‘Roger on your last transmission,’ I responded, and the comlink closed.
Now I reached for the dead grunt’s uniform, pulling on his helmet.
‘What are you doing?’ started Rico, not smirking any more.
I turned to look at him, staring at him through the mask, hearing my own breathing through the respirator. ‘I’m getting us inside,’ I said, finding the Helghast growl easier to manage behind the respirator. ‘What are you doing?’
Chapter Nineteen
Like I said a while back, the day of the Helghast invasion on Vekta was when war stopped becoming something we trained for and became something real. For me at least. The first time I ever saw combat was hot, burning chaos, a bullet-riddled hell, and all I could do was hope to make it out of there alive. That’s what I thought war was all about right then: survival.
But you know what? I was a rookie. I had no experience of death. No combat experience at all – plenty of simulations, for sure, but nothing actual. Suddenly to be thrust into that obscenity, it does something to your mind. How you deal with it, that’s what makes you a soldier. And I guess I was one of the lucky ones. Because what I realized – and I realized it pretty quickly – was that, yes, war is survival. But not just your own. You’re not there for yourself. You’re there for the man next to you.
Which is how come I found myself dressed up as a Helghast trooper, sitting beside Rico who was dressed the same way – like a couple of third-graders going trick or treating – taking a cable car right into the heart of enemy territory. Because you fight for your comrades and because no one gets left behind.
As we were hoisted higher and higher, I stared out of the window. Dusk was coming in. The brilliant white of the ice cliffs had been shaded grey. I saw thick, oily columns of smoke rising into the sky from the rigs we had destroyed, and below us the harbour, getting more distant now. On it were scattered fires, red-orange against the gunmetal of the walkways. Bodies were dotted along its length, but as we ascended higher and higher in the cable car they became barely visible pinpricks. We were leaving a battlefield behind us.
And going up to – what? Something about this whole incursion felt wrong. Here we were taking the car up to the main Stahl Arms facility – a base that had been under assault not two hours ago, and it felt like they didn’t give a damn.
Now, even if the Higs had fallen for it and thought our main force had retreated and the rest of us were dead, well, hell, the place should still have been on high alert. Any similar facility on Vekta would have gone into instant lockdown at the first blip of an enemy dropship. These guys? They’d sent two guards down in a cable car. And I wasn’t hearing warning klaxons. I wasn’t seeing air support or a massive deployment of infantry. Seemed like it was just another day at the office to them. They were either dumb as a box of sand, way over-confident, or … there was something else.
But what?
If Rico was as bothered as me by the lack of a welcome committee, then he didn’t show it. And once he’d pulled on the Helghast combat helmet and respirator I couldn’t even see his eyes, let alone tell what was going through his mind. He was probably thinking the same as me: that the mask was uncomfortable and unwieldy and that the goggles gave everything the same reddish tinge; that he felt protected by it, but also like it took something from him. Looking at him and seeing him looking at me, I saw the masks were just another way the Helghast robbed the people of their identity. Anything human, like a face, they tried to rub it out. This was an entire race of people with seriously fucked-up priorities.
Which was another reason we were going to rescue Narville and Bandit Recon. Because our refusal to give our buddies up to monsters made us human.
Suddenly the car stopped, shuddering to a halt and swinging wildly on its cable. Outside was a lower platform serving what looked like an observation deck, and once the car had stopped swinging the doors juddered open and in came a blast of freezing air, followed by two troopers. They grunted at us. I looked at them and nodded my head, grunting back. Christ, what if they wanted to start up a conversation? What did Helghast soldiers gas about when they weren’t busy trying to kill ISA guys? The game last night? Where to buy respirators that didn’t chafe? Maybe they were good, loyal Helghast and expected to start talking about how they were an ass-kicking race of super-humans, and soon the whole universe would bow down before them, mwah ha ha ha.
I swallowed fear, looked out of the window. What I saw were the peaks of the mountains, dusted with snow, and I realized that we were now at the foot of the main Stahl Arms complex, a vast monolithic series of buildings. Around it were defensive arc towers, blue electric light crackling at their tips. From sentry positions searchlights probed the darkening sky, while huge strips of window were stark white against the black of its shell, and landing lights twinkled on a deck at the far side. As I watched, an Overlord was coming in to land. Did this contain Narville? I wondered. It was possible. Especially if the Overlord hadn’t made its way directly back to base.
From opposite one of the Hig grunts cleared his throat and my attention went back to our guests. Shit. They were staring intensely at us. For all I know they could have been flashing us friendly smiles from beneath those respirators, but I didn’t think so – something about the body language, the way they shifted, looked at each other, then back at us.
Now we were being drawn up into the base of the main facility and towards a platform situated below the landing deck. Suddenly I could no longer see the tops of the mountain, the searchlights and the smoking rigs. Now as the car was hauled into the depths of Stahl Arms, what I saw were the steel and titanium supports in the belly of the compound; gantries, walkways and aisles. Now I saw the docking bay and a metal platform where a bunch of guards stood awaiting our arrival and my heart was hammering. There were more guards here than usual, surely?
One of them approached the car as the doors opened, his hand at his sidearm, and he swept his gaze around the interior, looking first at Rico and me, then at the other troops. Satisfied, he ushered us out and the two other grunts stood first, filing out of the door and onto the platform, their boots ringing on the metal. Rico stood too, and
moved in front of me – which is when I saw the blood on the back of his uniform. A big stain; it looked like it had come from a neck wound sustained by the previous occupant. It was still wet.
Jesus. I glanced out onto the platform. All those guards. One of them was bound to see the blood. My mind raced. Should I create a diversion? For a moment I pictured myself starting a snowball fight. Anything to take the Higs’ attention off Rico’s bloodstained back. But somehow I didn’t think a snowball fight was quite the Hig style and, anyway, Rico was on the platform and moving up behind the other two riders when there came a shout from the first guard. ‘Stop.’
All three of them turned round.
‘You,’ said the guard, but he was pointing at the other two. ‘You go ahead, report to the desk sergeant and get your orders.’
The two looked at each other, then at Rico, and then with an obvious sense of relief, went on their way.
The head guard now turned his attention to Rico. ‘And, you –’ his pointing finger swivelled. His other hand went to the butt of his pistol again – ‘approach me.’
Like all Higs he sounded like he was talking from within a deep abyss.
Slowly, Rico walked back along the platform towards him. Now the other guards had started to take an interest and were coming over, moving closer. Maybe we could take them out. But then … what if we did? We couldn’t operate the cable car to escape. As soon as gunfire was heard in the docking station, more guards would be called.
I tried to control my breathing. Control my fear. Maybe this was it. End of the road. Okay, if I was going down I was taking as many of them with me as I could. Surreptitiously I moved my hand to the front of the assault rifle, feeling for the safety under my gloved finger and sliding it off. Maybe we could take these guys out, make a dash into the main facility, damage as much equipment as we could before they put us down … Go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe one day the kids in modern history would learn about Sev and Rico along with Jan Templar.
‘What have you got on your back?’ said the head guard.
Rico looked at me. I realized that one of us was going to have to say something before we raised their suspicions simply by being a pair of say-nothing assholes, and I was about to speak when Rico piped up.
I don’t think I’d ever heard Rico talk like anybody but Rico before. He wasn’t one for doing impersonations of other officers. When Rico spoke, it was in a Rico voice, so I guess I almost died when he opened his mouth and began to talk – in a perfect approximation of Helghast.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ he rasped. ‘What do I have on my back, sir?’
The other guards chuckled and moved closer.
Playing to the crowd a little, the chief guard said, ‘Turn round, soldier.’
Rico turned and the guard placed a fingertip to the uniform, bringing it back with a blot of red on the grey glove and showing it to us. ‘Why do you have blood on your uniform?’ he asked.
Rico turned back. ‘I don’t know, sir,’ he croaked.
Shit, Rico, don’t lose it now, I thought.
‘You. Don’t. Know?’
‘From an ISA dog,’ I said quickly, my voice not as authentic as Rico’s, but seeming to have the desired effect.
Now the chief guard turned his attention on me; red glowing eyes seemed to burn into me. ‘But you reported the ISA intruders neutralized,’ he said accusingly.
‘One of the intruders was wounded and playing at being dead, sir,’ I said, coming to attention a little, ‘and following my report launched an attack. This must be his blood. I pulled him off and cut his throat.’
There was laughter from the Helghast around us. Just the thought of an ISA guy getting his throat cut was enough to have these guys busting a gut.
‘Cut his throat, did you?’ the chief guard snickered.
‘I did, sir, yes.’
‘Very good, very good. Unlucky for you that it wasn’t one of the king killers. Chairman Stahl has made it known that he will be most grateful to any who slaughter those dogs.’
‘A king killer, sir?’ I queried.
‘One of the men responsible for the death of our beloved autarch, idiot. One of them is being brought in now and taken to Chairman Stahl.’
Narville, I thought.
‘It would have been my honour to kill any one of them, sir,’ I rasped, ‘and I wish I could report that I had. But the man I killed was merely a lowly dog named Tomas Sevchenko.’
‘Really?’ said the chief guard. ‘That name … Interesting. Wait there.’
We stood on the platform, shuffling. Rico looked at me and was probably thinking, What the fuck are you up to, Sev? But to get to Narville we needed to get close to Stahl, and maybe this was a way of achieving that. Around us the other guards had relaxed and were moving back to their stations. I saw the head honcho with his hand at his ear, reporting. Then he nodded, finished the communication and returned to us.
‘Right, you two. I can verify that Tomas Sevchenko was one of those that Stahl hunts. It appears that you may be in line for a commendation. You are to report to the main desk for your next instruction. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ sir,’ we growled in unison.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Now go.’
He pointed us in the direction of a set of steps at the other end of the platform and we were just about to make our way towards them when suddenly, ‘Halt,’ he called, and once again we stopped, hearts sinking. I turned to see him striding down the platform towards us and as he did so he reached to the top of the cable car and scooped a handful of snow from its roof. For a nuts moment I thought there really was going to be a snowball fight, until he reached us, took hold of Rico’s shoulder, spun him round and rubbed the snow into his back until the bloodstain was all but invisible.
‘Can’t have you meeting Chairman Stahl with blood on your uniform, can we?’ he said. ‘Even if it is the king killer’s blood.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ croaked Rico, inclining his head, and at last we turned and made our way off the platform, feeling his red eyes boring into our backs as we ascended the steps to the deck above, both breathing a sigh of relief.
The next level was like a different world. Back down the steps was the bare guts of the complex: unfinished raw metal, old neglected consoles and discordant clanging; here, just one level above, were huge glass panels and panoramic views, holographic displays and brushed, burnished metallic surfaces. Footsteps no longer echoed. We trod silently on the soft-coated, shining floor as we made our way along a short corridor and to a security point, suddenly feeling too big and coarse for this pristine, high-tech world. To my left, I saw the landing deck through reinforced glass, an Overlord on it, its doors opening as I watched. Hig troops dragged two men in yellow prisoner jumpsuits from the hold. One, an ISA guy I knew, a member of Bandit Recon called Scanlon, who looked pretty badly beaten-up; the other, Narville. That made sense. The Overlord had made a detour to pick up Scanlon, which was how come they were only just arriving.
I tapped Rico and pointed him in the direction of what was happening. In reply he nodded imperceptibly. Both of us watched as Scanlon and Narville were frogmarched to a checkpoint.
Now, ahead of us, we saw the two grunts from the cable car passing through security at the end of the corridor and into a vast hall beyond. We moved up behind them trying to look like we knew what we were doing – like this was something we did every day. A guard looked up as we arrived, assault rifle slung across his shoulder.
‘Unit?’ he demanded.
‘Argus Two,’ replied Rico.
The guard nodded, checked a screen in front of him and seeing the name nodded approvingly. ‘Ah, the king killers,’ he said. ‘Docking bay informed us that you were on your way.’ He looked at us carefully, from one to the other. ‘The information has been relayed to Chairman Stahl,’ he said.
I held my breath.
‘And the chairman wishes to see you,’ he continued.
Game on.
&nb
sp; ‘First you are to report to the factory floor in order to collect something …’ He checked his screen again. ‘Doesn’t say what. But you’re to go directly there before proceeding to the broadcast room. They’re due to begin presently, so I wouldn’t hang around if I were you.’
Rico and I both nodded.
‘You may go,’ he said, and motioned us through the gate so that now we were entering what looked like the main hub for the whole facility, an expanse of floor surrounded by sets of double doors, stairways and clear-glass elevators. Scores of workers were hurrying to and fro. Some, like us, wore military uniform with full masks; others in long white lab coats or the uniforms of technicians, wearing half-face respirators that showed their eyes. Coming into the same hall was Narville, Scanlon and their two guards, the prisoners in particular looking incongruous in their surroundings, and we found ourselves falling in behind them as they crossed the polished floor. Everything here was clean and sparkling. An air of quiet industry reigned, until the peace was suddenly broken by a shout from Narville, who pitched to the floor. At once the party stopped. His guards laughed. Those around sniggered, stopping to watch for a moment as Narville was dragged roughly to his feet.
‘Don’t try anything like that again,’ snapped one of the guards, but Rico and I both knew that Narville had done nothing. There was to be no humane treatment here. Narville was no prisoner of war. He was a plaything. One of his guards saw us watching.
‘Yes?’ he said, almost threateningly.
‘We’re for the factory,’ I replied.
‘Better get there, then,’ he said crossly, waving us in the direction of a set of double doors. They slid noiselessly open as we approached, then closed behind us, admitting us to yet another new world.
Ahead of us stretched a metal walkway, and once again our boots were ringing as we made our way along its length, peering left and right into glass-fronted development labs that lined the way. At the end of the walkway was a second set of doors and these opened to admit us to a balcony.