A hole had been punctured in the side as if the horn of a creature thrust through it, and burn marks adorned he armour plating.
“Where you boys heading?” asked the Commander of the first vehicle.
Taylor looked up at the building. Craft were still coming and going at a rapid pace. They still had work to do.
“Anywhere but here!”
“What about our ride?” Antos asked.
“There are people who need it more,” replied Taylor.
“Looks like we’re the last way out of here, you coming with us or not?”
“All aboard, boys. Let’s move!”
He clambered up onto the tank and took position beside the Commander. The others piled on. Between his people and the National Guard squad, they almost entirely covered the surfaces of the vehicles. As the last boarded, a wave of enemy warriors swarmed in from where they had first come. The main gun fired, and a massive HE shell ignited amongst the enemy. It must have killed ten or more, and the two machine guns were quick to follow it up.
“Time to move,” said the Commander.
The tank rocked forward and turned almost on the spot, the troops on top laying down fire. The vehicles could no longer turn their turrets for fear of knocking the men off the top.
“Alita, come in."
"Mitch?" her response quickly came, "Are you okay?"
She was being very casual, but he knew it was not intentional.
"We're fine. We've got our own wheels. Get everyone out you can. You don't have long."
"I will."
Her voice was a little shaky, and it was clear she was crying. He couldn't tell if it were out of sadness or happiness, but he was just glad she was still alive.
"Good luck, Lieutenant. Taylor out."
He looked over to the tank Commander. He was grinning like a fool. He could tell what was going on just from the few words they had spoken to one another, but Taylor didn't feel he had to justify himself to anyone. He looked down at the tank. It creaked and rattled as if it was of some vintage; its many coats of thick paint giving the impression it had been in service a long time.
"How many of you are there?"
"There were three when we arrived," he replied solemnly.
"Three? What are you supposed to achieve with three tanks?"
"I can only work with what I’ve got."
Taylor knew that feeling all too well and didn't press the issue. They watched aerial bombardments smash into the city just a few klicks west of them.
"The city has fallen, hasn't it?"
Taylor nodded. It was a familiar situation for him. He didn't know anybody that lived there, and yet it still felt gut wrenching. He could only imagine the civilian death toll. Aircraft were still fleeing from the city, and he noticed the familiar formation of their Stormers. But as they passed overhead, there was a massive explosion atop the roof where just moments before Alita had been rescuing civilians. He lifted his rifle and used the scope to get a better view. The Commander raised his binoculars.
"My god!"
Flames raged from the rooftop, and they watched in despair as an explosion burst out from one of the last ships on the rooftop as it took off. Taylor shook his head.
"We have to put a stop to this now."
"What do you mean?"
"This will spread like a disease. We don't want it. We can't afford it."
He tapped his communicator and opened a channel to the Guam. Song answered herself. She must have been awaiting his call.
"Glad to see you are okay, Colonel."
He skipped any niceties.
"Captain, what is the enemy strength in Reno, right now?"
Song looked loathed to respond.
"How many, Captain?"
"Best count is a massive offensive. As many as twenty thousand."
It didn't shock Taylor like it did her.
"Has Hartley regained control of the defence battery yet?"
"Yes, Sir, but most of the weapon systems are out of action."
"Still got access to nukes?"
Song's eyes widened. She was starting to understand his intentions.
"We can't use nukes against a city," she pleaded.
"Are they operational or not?" he demanded.
She bowed her head. She didn't want to answer the question, and Taylor knew exactly what that meant.
"What is the blast radius of the nukes aboard the grid?"
Song did not respond.
"Look, Captain. We have a major situation down here. The city has fallen. Anyone still left in it is already dead."
But Song shook her head.
"What is it?"
"I just didn't think I would ever hear you give up on people so easily."
Taylor gritted his teeth. He was well aware what he was asking for, and he didn't like it any more than she did.
"Prepare the nuke to launch."
She shook her head once more. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"If you do this, Colonel, you will kill every civilian still caught up in the city."
"And if we don't, many more will die. This isn't the only attack on Earth. How are we going to find the forces to repel such an assault? If we leave this any longer, it will spread out of control."
They were tearing across the open desert outside the city at an incredible pace. Up ahead, they could barely make out the walls of the defences, for between them were tens of thousands of refugees. A few ships lifted off from behind the wall, but they couldn't handle the numbers. He looked to the tank Commander for an opinion. He didn't need to say a word.
"We can't protect these people."
"Song, what is the safe distance from this nuke?"
"They're a lot cleaner than back in your day, Colonel. Stay out of the fifteen klick margin, and you'll be fine."
It was all he needed to know.
"Prepare the nuke, Captain."
She begrudgingly accepted.
"Captain Wirral," said the Commander, offering out his hand to Taylor.
Taylor took it gladly, but looked confused as to his timing.
"I would have you know my name before I condone this action, and you take my advice on the matter."
"Mitch Taylor."
The Captain nodded. "I know."
"Nuke is ready to launch, Colonel, but can I please ask you to reconsider? Can we at least get Presidential approval?"
Taylor shook his head.
"Do you know the last time a nuclear weapon was detonated on Earth? Not even tests are carried there anymore. They haven't been for God knows how many hundreds of years."
"We don't need a history lesson, Captain. We just need to get this job done. The President tasked us with dealing with this threat and saving as many lives as we can. That is precisely what we are doing."
"Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?"
"Not a chance in the world. You have my authority to launch when ready. I take full responsibility for this decision."
Song looked at him for just a few moments and began to realise there would be no going back. She wanted to believe there was another way, but she wasn't on the ground, and she trusted Taylor enough to accept his judgement without further question.
"Affirmative, prepare to launch," she ordered and stayed on the line.
Their vehicle rocked to a halt. The convoy of vehicles trying to escape the city had banked up ahead of them. Civilians continued to run past, but nobody aboard the vehicles moved.
"Ready to launch in five, four, three, two, one...missile launched."
Taylor nodded in appreciation.
"We just entered a new age, Colonel," she stated.
"No, we just got back to an old one."
They sat and waited. The civilians still ran and screamed in fear and panic, but not the troops. They waited calmly atop the two vehicles. They were the only ones looking back towards the city. It wasn't long before they spotted the trail of the missile break through the clouds above them.
"Visors down!" Taylor shouted.
They pulled the visors down from their helmets so that they locked in the halfway position, enough to protect their eyes without being stifled.
"Oh, my God!" a voice cried from the civilians ahead of them. One had turned back and saw the missile they were watching. The Immortals appeared indifferent to it, watching it like a movie unfolding before their eyes. None of them had seen a nuclear explosion before, or at least not over a living and populated target. Yet after all the death and destruction they had seen while serving under Taylor, it was as if it were an expected development.
The missile vanished between the gleaming skyscrapers and the smoke that bellowed from them. They heard a tremor as the explosion ignited, and a bright light flashed before their eyes. Everyone around them ducked for cover and shielded their eyes, but not the Immortals. They watched every second with a morbid curiosity as a deadly fireball engulfed the centre of the city. Many of the buildings collapsed as the impact rocked their foundations, and a dust cloud burst out, forming a thick mist. The remaining towers stood defiantly, but they knew nobody could have survived the blast. One of the last craft still atop a tower crashed into the side of a nearby structure and vanished into the fog.
"I sure hope you have the backing of the President. Because I wouldn't want to be the man who pressed that button without the right authority," said Wirral.
"I was here. They weren't. I'll deal with the consequences of what I have done. I always do."
"Mitch!"
He saw Alita pushing her way through the refugees to try and reach him. He leapt off the vehicle to meet her as she ran into his arms. She was crying, and it wasn't because of happiness.
"It's okay now. We're safe," he said, trying to console her.
She shook her head and pulled back from his grasp, still weeping.
"No it's not...I had to kill a man. A civilian. Or maybe I didn't have to. Maybe I made a mistake..."
"Hey!" he shouted and shook her until she stopped and listened to him.
He didn't want to be the one to tell her he had just ordered the attack which had killed heaven knows how many civilians. Somehow the fact he had done it from afar made it far less a tragedy than her single kill had been.
"You saved lives today, didn't you?"
She nodded.
"And how many would have been lost had you not been here to do your job?"
She shrugged.
"That's right. Plenty. You killed one, saved hundreds. That was a good day."
She seemed to get a little perspective on it and became less hysterical, but still wept as she buried her head in his shoulder.
"It's okay. It's over," he said to comfort her, but he looked up and over her shoulder. More than a dozen of the civilians around them were glaring at him. It was not over for them. Not in their eyes. They had just lost everything, their homes, their city, and likely many of their friends and family. He didn't have the heart to tell them they were lucky to have their lives. They looked ready to tear him apart, as if blaming him for the destruction of their city.
"It'll all be okay," he whispered to Alita.
Chapter 8
"No life remains in the ruins of the once great city if Reno; a beacon of civilisation that was referred to as one of the wealthiest and most desirable cities to live in on Earth. But we are receiving unconfirmed reports that it was not the enemy invaders who destroyed Reno. Not Bolormaa and the Morohta, nor any of their followers. Some people say the nuclear weapon that destroyed Reno was fired from our own Earth defence grid, the defence grid that was one of the most expensive joint building projects in recent history. The question remains. Who destroyed Reno, and why? I am Helena Burrows for Alliance Central News. Good evening, good luck, and may the souls of our fallen citizens find peace."
Taylor threw back his drink and looked out across San Francisco Bay. He had left behind his armour, but remained in uniform with his sidearm and Assegai at his side.
"This was a hell of a plan, Sir," said Antos. He sat down at the table with two shot glasses, one in each hand and both for himself.
Taylor didn't share his positivity, but he didn't respond. Many of their unit sat about the bar. Alita was in the chair next to him, looking as mindful and sad as he did.
"They are going to blame you for this, aren't they?" she asked.
"Most probably."
"It's not fair. You had no choice. It had to be done."
Taylor just took another sip of his drink.
"So what now?" Jones asked who was on his other side.
"Rest of the enemy attacks have been suppressed. We are off the line for a little while. Until the next disaster strikes," replied Taylor.
"Colonel Mitch Taylor?" a firm voice called.
He turned around, leaned back against the veranda fence, and sipped casually from his drink.
"Yeah, who wants to know?"
A man in a suit stood there. He was seemingly unarmed, but at his back were six armoured soldiers. Or what seemed to be soldiers. They wore no insignia. They looked well trained, but bore no sign of the scars of war that the rest of them did. Their gear was as spotless as the first man's suit. Pinstripe and cut with perfection. He wore a white shirt and dull blue tie, strictly business. He looked of South American descent and had dark tanned skin. His eyes were a piercing blue, and he seemed to stare as if that gave some gravity to his presence.
"I have orders to take you directly to the President of the Alliance."
Antos slammed his shot glass down and arose before the man. Several others of the unit closed ranks. Antos stood almost a head taller, and Babacan paced up behind the others in an intimidating fashion.
"What does he want with the Colonel?" Antos demanded.
"Let him through," said Taylor.
He was the only one among the Immortals who still looked calm and collected. The others were ready to draw weapons and start shooting. And yet the civilian dressed man did not flinch. He had an air of confidence, perhaps even arrogance about him. It was understandable, as clearly he held some substantial authority.
"I'm Taylor. What d'you want?" he asked sternly.
"My name is Vargas, and the President has sent me to personally escort you to him for a debriefing on your recent actions."
He was certainly some sort of secret service agent or equivalent. He held himself confidently and moved like he knew how to handle himself, but he was no soldier, nor sailor.
"And what if he doesn't want to go?"
Taylor gestured for Antos to back down.
"It's okay. I'll go with you...Vargas."
"Not alone," stated Jones, stepping up beside him, and Alita followed suit.
"As you wish," replied Vargas. He stepped aside and beckoned for Taylor to follow him.
Taylor looked to Fry who anticipated some final orders.
"Get back to the Guam and await further instructions."
"And if the ship is ordered elsewhere?"
"The ship is under my command. Nobody says otherwise but me."
"Yes, Sir."
The three were led away with an armed escort in front and behind. It wasn't the most comforting of feelings.
"You enjoy your work?" Taylor asked.
"I am just doing my job, Colonel. Satisfaction comes from seeing the results of my work."
One of those, tows the party line, and can't take a joke. Great!
"So where are we heading?" Jones asked.
"That is classified."
"Come on, this is bullshit. You expect us to just be dragged along wherever you fancy?"
But Mitch laid his hand on Alita's shoulder to stop her as Vargas continued.
"The Alliance expects much of us all, and the President is in charge of the Alliance. He asks any one of us to go somewhere, and yes, I expect those orders to be followed. Perhaps if others followed the orders of their superiors, we would not be in our current situation."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean
?" Taylor asked.
Vargas stopped.
"Go on, say it. Cut the bullshit out, and tell me what you are really thinking."
"You have an attitude problem, Colonel. You always have done. And you get people killed because you think you know best."
“Have a little respect,” snapped Alita, “You know Colonel Taylor has done more than anyone alive to protect this world.”
“Yes, I am aware of the Colonel’s history,” replied Vargas calmly, “But it would be rather rash to attribute success in a war to one man, don't you think?”
“Clearly you haven’t read your history books,” muttered Jones.
“But I have, Captain. Never assume for a moment that because you achieve victory that you did it the best way. You can lose ten times as many souls in a battle than you needed to and still win. That does not make for a great leader.”
“And I suppose you know what does?”
“I wouldn’t presume to know, Colonel. I analyse, I plan, I predict, and I shoot for the best results for everyone that must be affected by such decisions.”
“A stat man, great. Just what we need to win a war.”
Vargas would not be intimidated nor upset.
“But that is precisely what a war is, Colonel. Statistics. Number of soldiers, number of ships, number of casualties, balance one in favour of the other and find victory. Balance poorly and there's failure.”
“People aren’t numbers on a page.”
Vargas sighed.
“No, they are not, and that is what you will have to answer for. Reno was not full of numbers and statistics, but people. People with friends and families who will want answers as to why their loved ones didn’t make it out alive.”
Battle Beyond Earth: Retaliation Page 12