The Suns of Liberty (Book 1): Legion

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  Sophia shot Revolution a look that said, What the hell was that?

  He understood. He did his best to shrug.

  Another zipped by, just below them. Again, just an orange blur.

  The third one that flew by, just off to their right, had two glowing red eyes, and they knew what they were.

  Drones.

  On fire.

  In Rachel’s eyes, Ward saw terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. Maybe it was seeing someone so courageous, so ballsy, if he could use that term, reduced to her current state, but it broke his heart.

  Ward pulled her closer to him and typed a text into her visor though a thought-command. “Just stay close. I’ll keep you covered.”

  “It’s a date,” came back over his HUD, and despite the sharp fear rippling through her, she winked at him.

  Ward felt his face flush.

  Rachel’s flirty gaze distorted. She broke eye contact and peered ahead. And the face of terror returned.

  The entire wall of the hurricane for as far as they could see above them was glowing orange. It looked like a massive wall of fire was headed for them.

  Sophia pulled them. She fired her thrusters on full, and they dove.

  And dove.

  Fast. Hard. A stomach-lurching descent.

  Just in time to see, feel, and even hear, despite the all-consuming roar of the storm, an enormous mass of burning debris zoom over their heads.

  It looked like the entire Delaware was on fire and had just crashed the through the storm above them.

  In Ward’s HUD, another message from Rachel scrolled: “Aren’t you glad you signed back up?”

  Only a few miles away, as the roiling storm clouds faded away over the horizon, Clay Arbor and Kendrick Ray were being utilized to the fullest extent of their considerable superhero abilities in the aftermath of the hurricane that had walloped Trenton, New Jersey.

  If by fullest extent one meant a photo-op.

  They were both in costume, perched in the branches of a mangled tree, right in the middle, not coincidentally, of Liberty Street.

  Arbor was reaching out toward a drenched cat that looked like it wanted to claw his eyes out and use his brains for a litter box.

  Fortunately for Arbor, those eyes were covered by a titanium-alloy visor.

  Ray leaned over and whispered to him “I just want to point out that we are literally rescuing cats from trees now.”

  Arbor said nothing. Instead, he reached up and grabbed the cat—which had no choice but to comply and fortunately just went limp. He and Ray scampered down the tree and posed for the photographers.

  A thousand flashbulbs.

  “No job too big, no job too small for the Legion!” he proclaimed and handed the cat to the little grandma and her tearful pre-teen granddaughter.

  He and Ray turned back from the photographers. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Arbor said.

  A tremendous whistling noise screeched from the sky.

  Everyone looked up.

  An out-of-control, on-fire drone zipped over their heads, zoomed over the horizon, and crashed with a tremendous boom into the adjacent neighborhood.

  “Shit!” Ray said.

  The two men stared at each other. Both thinking the same thing.

  ‘C’mon, let’s get over there!” Arbor yelled.

  The horizon glowed orange. The houses.

  Arbor and Ray sprinted toward the glow, and the mob of photographers parted to let them through.

  In full sprint, Arbor spoke into his com, “Soto, did you see that? Meet us over there.”

  “On our way now,” she said.

  The fire roared and spread quickly.

  The Legion members gather just outside of it. The homes were flooded, up to their porches, and yet on fire. Arbor considered his options.

  Ray was useless. Arbor knew that his own abilities were not much better. He and the big brute Fang could do little more than try to destroy some structures, maybe redirect where the fire went, but they could do little to actually stop it. Fiddler more of the same, even less effectively.

  And then he considered Veronica. She had speed and strength. “Velocity,” he said to her, and she trotted over. “Want to give those new legs of yours the ultimate test?”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  Arbor thought back to when she had first gotten her new appendages. They’d been in the break room just outside the physical therapy center. She’d developed little control at that point and her sessions were not going well. Von Cyprus had promised immediate results, but that was not happening. And Veronica knew that if she didn’t make fast progress, the chances were her body would reject her new arms and legs altogether.

  She’d poured creamer in her coffee and had gone to stir it. A surge of power had run through her arms, and the spoon had moved so fast, Arbor had only seen a blur.

  By the time she regained control, half the coffee was puddled on the floor at her feet.

  A tear had streaked down her face.

  Arbor smiled at her now. He peered around at the flooded streets. “I’m thinking stirring the coffee a little too fast is exactly what we need.”

  Veronica looked at him, confused. But then followed his gaze to the flooded streets and she got his meaning. She nodded and a wide smile crossed her face.

  The power of the storm had abated slightly since their first trip through. Maybe it was that, or the fact that they’d done it before, but whatever it was, the Suns of Liberty found that the pain and chaos were not as intense this time.

  Ward still thought he might black out but was putting on a brave face for Rachel, who was clinging to him for dear life and thankful her mutilated wrist had gone completely numb. Drayger had only thought he might puke once and that had passed. And Sophia could ignore the hot wires of pain arcing through her ribs and hip by dreaming about how she was going to come back one day and blast Eric Von Cyprus into oblivion for inventing that damn Man-O-War. For the Revolution, he had some excellent painkillers swimming through his bloodstream.

  Best of all, the drones had stopped crashing through the cloud bank. When at long last they exited back through the storm, they saw why. Ana had taken a more northerly turn, and as they exited its blanket of churning rain and blasting wind, they saw the ruin of the USS Delaware. The massive ship had crashed into the heavily forested, unpopulated area just outside of Trenton, setting the pine-dotted hills ablaze. Fire crews rushed in from every direction.

  Ward breathed a sigh of relief and felt Rachel touch his shoulder.

  “That was easy,” she said.

  And he knew from her still-wild eyes and ragged tone she meant the opposite.

  And at that exact moment, the alarm claxon in Revolution’s helmet screamed to life. Bogies coming in directly behind them. On a collision course.

  He turned and tried to scream a warning, but there was no time. Lantern did it for him.

  But it was too late.

  A dozen fully functional drones.

  They’d been obscured from Lantern by the storm and now they were upon the Suns in a heartbeat.

  This was going to hurt. For Rachel and Drayger, a direct hit could do more than hurt, it could kill.

  Revolution’s thoughts were disrupted by an explosion of luminescent bullets that shot past his head and slammed into the squadron of drones. Two went down immediately; all of them were forced to divert their course. They dove below and away from the group and, most importantly, aborted their first attack.

  Drayger.

  Breaking from their line, clutching his pistol, ready to fire again, flying the vortex engines expertly, Drayger engaged.

  Below them, the drones regrouped and glided into a new formation, flying like a flock of birds. As they arced skyward they let loose a withering assault of red laser blasts.

  The Suns scattered.

  Not Drayger.

  Again he dove straight for them, firing the luminescent pistol into the heart of the drones—just a man and
a gun. No armor, no protection—using some shots to block the incoming laser blasts, others to take out the drones themselves. This time, he took out three more. He was damn lucky to have even lived through it.

  By now, Sophia and Revolution had joined in. Sophia blasted three more out of the sky and Revolution destroyed one with a cylinder grenade.

  Three more were left.

  Inexplicably, they turned and headed back into the storm, probably back to the Trenton facility, Revolution mused.

  That was close. He turned to thank Drayger.

  But the young man was nowhere to be found.

  Drayger had followed them.

  “Neuro, no!” Revolution shouted.

  But he was gone, diving into the storm like a man possessed, swallowed up by its blanket of grey fury.

  “Should we go after him?” Sophia asked.

  Explosions ripped through the churning cloud bank. Three of them.

  “I’d say there’s no need.”

  Thirty seconds later, Drayger emerged from the storm, grinning from ear to ear.

  In the distance, they could see the Sikorsky. It was lit up in Lantern’s digi-sphere—which was now fully operational again—and they headed toward the Stealth Hawk wanting to get there before their vortex engines gave out.

  Into the Sikorsky’s bay they flew. But just before Lantern could close the bay doors, Ward blanched. “Oh my god.”

  They all turned toward him.

  He was gawking out at Trenton proper, where the first drone had crashed into a flooded residential area and sparked a roaring fire among the swamped homes. They all crowded around the bay door and watched as three more burning drones spun into the same neighborhood and exploded, spreading the fires.

  “We’ve got to get down there,” Ward said. He knew Trenton was probably overflowing with Council Guard by now. “How do we handle this?”

  “We don’t,” Revolution said.

  “What do mean?” Ward said, confused.

  “We can’t go down there.”

  “We risk all those people’s lives if we don’t get down there.”

  “We risk much more than that if we do,” Revolution said.

  The other Suns took that as their cue to step away. Ward locked eyes with Sophia and then with Drayger. Both looked like they wanted to say something, but didn’t.

  Ward watched them walk away, waiting for one of them to take up the cause with him.

  None did.

  It was only Ward and Revolution standing at the bay door.

  “People will die if we run,” Ward said.

  Revolution peered out at the fires now spreading across four square blocks. “I know,” he said.

  And closed the bay door.

  “What can I do?” Fiddler asked.

  “Stay with me and don’t kill anybody,” Ray told him.

  “Perfect,” Fiddler growled.

  Arbor grinned at Ray and motioned to the others. “Let’s go.”

  He led them to the boundaries of the fire, which was now burning in a three-block area. The flood waters prevented any firefighters from getting in and giving them a hand.

  So the first order of business was to get any victims out. Fortunately, there were very few. A few elderly couples and some kids who had been left home alone when the storm hit. More than one of these rescues was captured by a Media Corp camera and instantly broadcasted in real time.

  Arbor and Fang lifted debris out of the way, put out fires with their armored hands, and generally used brute strength to redirect some of the floodwaters where they could.

  But the main show was reserved for Veronica, who charged into the water full speed, running a route around the fires as fast as her legs and her suit would take her. Even for her, the waist-high water made for a slow start, but soon enough, her momentum built to full speed. She was a black blur on a black night. She didn’t even show up on the Media Corp cameras, which seemed like a significant problem until the water began to slosh.

  Just like the liquid in her coffee cup, the water formed a giant circular wall and leaped over the lip—the barriers of porches or bushes—and began to splash against the burning structures. The fires began to be doused. In only a few minutes, she had gone where no fire crew could go and put them all out.

  The Suns watched the coverage in silence on the flight back to Boston. Ward wondered again why he was with them if they were just going to turn tail and run in the face of catastrophe. What was the point?

  But Revolution viewed it as a balance. They’d saved their teammate and destroyed the major Council research facility, judging by the presence of Eric Von Cyprus. He and the Suns would take a hit in public opinion, but COR would understand.

  He sat alone at one end of the bay while the others—Ward, Rachel, and Drayger—sat at the other. Sophia piloted the chopper, and Lantern rode shotgun. Sophia leaned toward Lantern at one point, nodded to the TV coverage, and grinned. “The more they act like heroes, the worse it’s going to be for them when we expose them.”

  “Yep,” Lantern said.

  Despite Ward’s cynicism over the operation, Leslie called in to say she had informed COR of the mission’s success and that several members had sent their congratulations, including New York’s Livingston Roosevelt. They still had their detractors, but the brashness of the attack had breathed new life into what had been a dispirited group. The same response was being reported across the fifty states’ HQs. The spirit of the victory in Boston was being rekindled by this sneak attack on Trenton.

  For now, it seemed, Revolution’s gamble had paid off.

  Far more troubling to him was the Legion’s power. With his team down in numbers and injured, the Legion had already handed them their butts in New York. What was their next move? An attack on the Boston HQ made the most sense. But were the Legion formed to be an actual threat to the Suns, or were they merely a publicity stunt? They could have taken everyone but Lantern prisoner at Freedom Rise. What were they playing at, and would his team be ready?

  Revolution gazed over at Drayger, who he noted was gazing over at Rachel as she wrung out her long, silky brunette hair. Would the addition of Drayger be enough to right the balance with the Legion? And could he count on the youngster in a crunch? The kid had almost gotten himself killed out there tonight.

  Revolution sat there musing on the line between bravery and madness as the Sikorsky banked right and crossed the state line into Connecticut.

  CHAPTER 28

  The fire roared.

  It raced down the pine-dotted hill. Licking the boot heels of the eight fleeing firefighters. A small group of soldiers decked out in light-blue and gray riot armor dashed ahead, desperate for cover. They were members of the elite Guard of the Freedom Council. The best of the best, toughest of the tough, the meanest of the mean.

  And tonight they were lucky just to be alive.

  Flames scurried up the thin trees. Inside, the sap boiled and ignited. The burning trunks exploded, spewing the flaming liquid in all directions.

  Rapid fire blasts of energy were slamming into the Earth everywhere around them, chasing them down the hill. Explosions rained earth, mud, and fire down all around.

  An out-of-control drone, a prototype—larger and more deadly than the others—damaged by the explosion of the USS Delaware, zoomed over the trees, targeting any and all humanity for liquidation. The mechanism that allowed it to tell friend from foe had been damaged beyond repair.

  Pterodactyl-Prime had to be stopped at all costs.

  One hundred yards away, a line of Guardsmen ducked for cover behind a row of jeeps and looked on helplessly, catching their breath from the long run down the hill. Hoping their comrades would catch up to them soon.

  In the center of the raging inferno, a large metallic Observation Pod—a brand-new aircraft that was part hovercraft, part helicopter—had crash-landed into the forest floor. A huge earthen gully had been dug out by the Pod’s crash and skid. The Pod was powered by large propeller fans and
engines built into the bottom of the circular craft that created extraordinary directional flight and hover capabilities.

  Only moments before, the Pod had been following and trying to draw the fire of the drone. The men had been tasked with keeping the machine from entering residential Trenton, by using themselves as bait, while their comrades tried to shoot the drone down. It was a suicidal mission that the Guard would normally have been spared from, but there was no time to deploy anyone else. They had done their best. But the Pod had been downed by the drone. Now the men were trapped inside.

  The drone had already killed a dozen Guardsmen when the Pod malfunctioned from the punishment it had sustained. Direct laser shots from the drone had fried its operation system. The other Guard on the ground ran for cover as their commander, Michael Crustac, began to bark orders to them and tried to get them all to safety.

  In the midst of the chaos, a jeep came barreling up from behind them. A petite red-haired woman was standing up in the open jeep, pointing toward the crazed drone. She wore a long white shawl that flapped lightly in the breeze.

  The jeep paused. The woman seemed to be arguing with the driver. Then, finally, the jeep charged into the burning forest. The men just gaped. The jeep was going to be toast in seconds.

  Suddenly, something zoomed overhead. In the dark, it was just a blur of light. Their first thought was a jet, but it was too small, and most bizarrely, it was glowing red and green.

  Not a jet.

  Michael Crustac went to work. Turning to his men at the bottom of the hill, he said, “Stay here, wait ‘til it’s clear!” He grabbed up the largest gun he could find and zipped out into the burning tree line. Crustac was a big man, six foot four. He was as brave as they came. And just as loyal to God and country.

  Technically, he was violating protocol by not sending a team of underlings. Not the first time in the commander’s decorated career. He wasn’t so much a maverick as simply a man who saw things through to the end. He never asked his people to do something he himself was not prepared to do. And the people under his command were his family.