Duran waited for the aperture in the thing’s chest to open, for Knile to riddle his body with bullets. Instead, he heard Knile’s amplified voice through the loudspeaker.
“Duran, get up.” Knile turned and lifted one of the machine’s claws and smashed the door of the terminal apart in three rapid blows.
“What’s going on?” Zoe said, gripping Duran by the arm and helping him to his feet.
Knile stared out at them through the machine’s window, his face pale in the green light.
“We may already be too late,” he said.
33
Murtas Dux pressed the earpiece tighter against his head and strained to listen.
“Wolfe, say again?” he said.
He waited for a response, but all he heard was static. He sighed, exasperated, and shook his head.
“Problem?” Dixon said gruffly, appearing at his side.
“It’s Wolfe, in the Atrium,” Murtas said. “He was babbling on about something a moment ago, but I missed it.”
“I can go down and investigate, if you wish?” Dixon offered.
Murtas glanced around the roof. Right at that moment, everything seemed like business as usual as far as he could tell. Passengers were already arriving for the evening ride up the Wire. As they had streamed past, Murtas had given them a once-over and decided that they were a motley crew – rough-looking sorts who were unfamiliar to him – but that was not necessarily a cause for concern. The Consortium had scouts crawling all over Earth, digging up the last precious artefacts that still existed down there. Many of them were little more than treasure hunters, and indeed, Murtas had seen all kinds of ruffians wander through the Stormgates in his time.
If these people had made it through the Stormgates, Valen and her cronies must have wanted something from them, be it information or something more tangible. It wasn’t Murtas’ job to ask questions; Valen had made that clear on many occasions.
As he stood there, however, something began to make him feel uneasy. He just wasn’t sure what it was that was nagging at him.
“Perhaps you should investigate,” he said finally, turning back to Dixon. “There is–”
His earpiece crackled again suddenly.
“–coming through–”
Silence once more.
“Wolfe,” Murtas said, recognising the voice of one of the Redmen stationed down in the Atrium. “Repeat. You’re breaking up.”
Although only two words had filtered through to him, Murtas was alarmed by the urgency, the desperation that had been conveyed in those few syllables. He waited a moment, then raised his voice to those around him.
“Brothers, to me.”
The other six members of the Crimson Shield who were lined out along the roof responded immediately, lumbering over to Murtas and forming a circle around him. As they did, there was another burst through Murtas’ comms.
“–insurgents–”
A loud noise came through the earpiece, forcing Murtas to curse and rip the earpiece from his head.
“Fuck!” he snarled, glaring at the earpiece balefully.
“What is it, Dux?” Dixon said.
“There’s trouble in the Atrium. Wolfe is trying to get a message through, but it’s breaking up. He mentioned the insurgents.”
“Bastards,” Hughes said. His youthful face seemed full of ire behind his visor. “So they think they can just walk into our territory, do they?”
“We need to get down there immediately and make sure the situation is in hand,” Murtas said. “Dixon, Marks, Hughes, Long. You’re with me.” He turned to the other two. “Scifres, Plinsk, you will remain behind. Keep your ears to your comms in case we need you, and make sure the techs and the passengers are kept safe at all costs.”
Murtas glanced over his shoulder at the passengers, who seemed to have started a discussion with the techs. One of them, a large, cowled figure in a wheelchair, watched Murtas through slits in the bandages that had been wound around his face. Murtas wondered for a brief moment what disease or affliction the filthy creature might be carrying, but he did not dwell on it.
He led the Crimson Shield away from the railcar and toward the elevator at a full sprint.
Iris found herself in the Atrium, in the middle of one hell of a shitstorm, one from which she wasn’t sure she was going to escape.
It wasn’t like this was her first dance. Far from it. She’d seen plenty of action in her time, having been at the forefront of some of most audacious acts of guerilla warfare seen in these parts in the last decade – like the time she’d hit the Enforcer data centre and blown up one of the server racks, taking out security systems on more than ten levels for a week. Getting out of there had been a complete mess, with bullets flying everywhere, and she’d watched as five of her men had been torn apart whilst trying to retreat.
That had been some heavy shit.
But this. This was madness.
It was lucky that she and the brawlers who comprised the rest of Team Omega had found cover at all. After escaping the elevator, they’d flung themselves behind a jumble of cargo crates that had been discarded when the fighting began. Undoubtedly these had been bound for the roof, a shipment destined for Habitat One via the railcar, but whoever had been responsible for hauling them had abandoned the load when the bullets had begun to fly.
In the wide open spaces of the Atrium, this was one of the few places that afforded any kind of protection from the conflict.
She looked frantically around the Atrium again. Behind them, those crazy Children of Earth bastards were still scuttling over the balustrade like spiders, diving for the safety of the plasma shields that their comrades had established around the perimeter. As she watched, more grappling hooks clanged against the balustrade, heralding the approach of even more of the insurgents.
In the other direction, toward the central column, the Redmen were making their way forward, drawn away from the safety of the Stormgates by the nature of the attack. The insurgents had cleverly begun to hurl explosives at the Stormgates from the safety of their plasma shields, causing significant damage to several of the arches already. The Redmen had been left with no option but to move in closer in an attempt to force the insurgents back.
Iris might have admired the strategy and execution of the attack had it not ruined all of Skybreach’s plans.
“Where the hell are they coming from?” Hausler said beside her. Previously he had been one of the calmer and more softly spoken of the brawlers, but now he was evidently struggling, his face red and his skin clammy as he fought to control his agitation.
“They must have secured a location not far below,” Iris shouted back over the noise of the gunfire. “Maybe in the Plant Rooms. From there they could grapple to the Atrium.”
“And fuckin’ plasma shields!” Hausler went on, incredulous. “How did they get their hands on this kinda hardware?”
“Right now, I don’t give a shit,” Iris said. “We just have to figure a way to get out of here.”
Hausler nodded, trying to regain his composure. “Yeah. Right.” He glanced over the top of the crate. “What about if we make a run for the Stormgates?”
“Are you kidding? The Redmen will assume we’re with the insurgents. They’ll blow us apart before we get halfway there.”
“Then we need to haul ass back down the elevators and wait for the Redmen to pick these bastards off.”
“No can do,” Iris said. “The elevators are locked down, and I can’t get through to Aksel. I think Children of Earth must be using a jammer, trying to stop the Redmen from calling in reinforcements.”
“Between a hammer and a goddamn anvil, aren’t we?”
Iris grimaced. “Something like that.”
“Any sign of Remus?” Hausler said.
“No. Since him and Knile aren’t here already, I figure they’re not coming at all.”
Unsure of what to do, she looked across at the other brawlers who were huddled behind the crates with Hausler. They
were hard men, good fighters. She had no doubt about that. They could take the fight to the insurgents, help the Redmen to repel the attack. But what would happen should they succeed? Their disguises would be blown. What questions would the Redmen have for them after they’d seen their weapons?
The whole mission would be jeopardised.
But, as she saw yet more insurgents appearing over the lip of the Atrium, she realised that there was no other choice. If Children of Earth won this fight, there would be no chance for the mission to succeed anyway.
“What’s the call?” Hausler said breathlessly.
Iris pulled the M4A1 assault rifle from beneath her trench coat and ran the action, chambering a round. She gave the brawlers a steely glare.
“We load up. Put a bullet in anything that appears over the edge of that balustrade.”
“They’ll turn on us,” Hausler said. “We don’t have the numbers–”
“You can sit here and die if you want,” Iris said. She brought the rifle up and pointed it toward one of the grappling hooks, where a bearded man was struggling over the balustrade. She pulled off a shot and the man cried out in pain, tumbling back over the edge. “If I’m going to die, it’s going to be on my feet.”
A moment later, a cluster of grenades came flying over the edge of the Atrium, forcing her to dive back behind the crates once more for cover.
She cursed, covering her ears against the noise of the ensuing explosions as she kept her head low.
Then she recovered and joined the fight in earnest, turning on the nearest insurgents, crouched behind one of the plasma shields with her rifle.
She heard movement behind her, and could only hope the brawlers had decided to follow her into the fray.
She wouldn’t last long out there on her own.
Dixon fired his pulse rifle again and again, but no matter how many of the insurgents he dispatched, there were always others to take their place.
“You will not come through here!” he shouted at no one in particular. “Not while I still draw breath!”
A volley of shots clattered against his torso, causing him to stagger backward a step. His battle armour was highly effective against ballistic rounds such as these, and he wasn’t too concerned about the rifles that were pointed against him.
The explosives, on the other hand, were another matter. Those could prove dangerous if he wasn’t careful.
Dixon glanced across at his brethren. Although outnumbered ten, perhaps even twenty to one, the Crimson Shield stood tall. They were moving forward, closing the gap between themselves and the insurgents. Once they were amongst the enemy and could flank them, this battle would end quickly. He had no doubt about that.
For the moment, they just had to hold their line and remain wary of the explosives. They would wear the insurgents down and overwhelm them in the end.
Judging by the ferocity of the attack, Dixon suspected that Children of Earth were throwing everything they had into this fight, and that thought pleased him. Indeed, he wanted their entire force to come forward. He wanted these upstarts squashed, their rebellion extinguished, so that the Consortium could resume business as usual. If the insurgents were to smash themselves against the wall of crimson this day, that outcome would certainly come to fruition.
He didn’t like the fact that he and the other Redmen had to leave the safety of the Stormgates to chase after the attackers, but they had been left little option. The Stormgates would not hold up to the explosives forever. Now he was close enough to see the whites of the insurgents’ eyes as they huddled against their plasma shields. Dixon smiled grimly behind his visor.
Yes, this would be over soon.
Suddenly a flurry of black objects curled over the balustrades and clattered around the Redmen’s feet like apples falling from a tree. Instinctively, Dixon turned and dived away. He grunted with the effort as he rolled, putting as much distance between himself and the grenades as he could. A series of blasts shook the air as the grenades detonated one after the other, and Dixon saw Hughes go down screaming, a hole in the thigh of his armour. Marks scrambled over to him and began to drag him backward.
Nearby, Murtas Dux had turned and was running back toward the Stormgates. Dixon assumed that he was about to rally the men, but the Dux did not turn back to the fight, continuing on toward the elevator as if he intended to leave.
“Where are you going?” Dixon shouted, furious. “Murtas Dux, what do you think you are doing?”
Murtas did not answer. He reached the elevator and hit the call button, then went inside without another word.
“Yellow-bellied piece of…” Dixon ground his teeth together and bounded to his feet, running as fast his old legs would carry him toward the elevator. He intended to grab that bastard by the scruff of the neck and drag him kicking and screaming back into the fight, Dux or not.
It was an action that would see Dixon severely reprimanded, probably stripped of his title and punted from the order, but right at that moment he didn’t care.
The elevator doors closed and Murtas slipped from view.
“Bastard!” Dixon roared. “Snivelling coward!”
He’d never liked Murtas. That was no secret. Dixon had returned to duty because he had been concerned about the leadership of the Crimson Shield here on Earth – or lack thereof – and he’d decided that someone with dignity and integrity needed to be present with the men who were stationed here.
But even Dixon hadn’t thought that Murtas would be capable of this kind of gutlessness. He–
Dixon stopped, glanced back at the insurgents. From this position he could survey the entirety of the attack far more effectively. The insurgents had concentrated their attack on one side of the Atrium, to the east, and that was where the Redmen had assembled in response. Now, as Dixon looked out to the west, he squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun. It had almost set.
He raised his arm against the brightness, saw the shadow of something moving out there. Something big.
He began to run again, moving past the central column and out through the Stormgates on the other side. With the sun so low in the sky, it was difficult to see anything clearly. Dixon had to run almost to the edge of the Atrium before he could begin to make out what was happening.
Out of the west, a dirigible was drifting silently toward him.
Dixon’s heart sank. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he had a very bad feeling about this.
He shielded his eyes against the sun again, tried to make out the details of the airship. Was it reinforcements for the insurgents? A diversion, or perhaps something else entirely?
He could see only one passenger in the gondola, the pilot, and behind him the bulk of something large and blocky. A cargo of some sort.
Light protect us, Dixon thought, horrified, as realisation dawned. No.
He raised his rifle and began to shoot at the dark expanse of the dirigible’s envelope, squeezing off rounds as quickly as he could, but it was useless. He already knew that he was too late. The airship was moving too fast, it had too much momentum, and Dixon had arrived too late. It was coming right for him.
Where are the blasted Enforcers? he thought desperately. They’re supposed to man the walls and shoot these things down!
But he already knew the answer to his own question. The Enforcers had been redeployed, taken from their former tasks and sent to guard the entrance to the Reach and who knew what else.
In that moment, Dixon understood. He realised that those previous attacks on the consulates had merely been setting the scene for this final attack, manipulating the players as the insurgents saw fit.
The Atrium was their objective. Their only objective.
Dixon continued to pepper the dirigible with rounds, and for a moment he thought that perhaps all was not lost. The dirigible began to dip, curving downward as its ruined envelope sagged and began to flap in the breeze.
But it was not enough. As Dixon leaned over the balustrade he saw the di
rigible zeroing in on the wall of the Reach not far below.
The old warrior stepped back and, defeated, dropped to one knee.
He began to pray.
Jozef Gudbrand sat calmly behind one of the plasma shields as his soldiers carried out their part in his grand scheme. In some ways he was surprised that things had gone as smoothly as they had. He’d figured that sooner or later his luck would run out, that the Enforcers or the Redmen would do something out of character and surprise him. However, up until this point, that simply hadn’t happened. Every element that he’d designed had slotted neatly into place like the cogs in a finely tuned watch.
Now, it was all drawing to a close. The final moment had arrived without a hitch.
Jozef felt elated. He thought of how far he’d come, how all of those years of planning and toil and sacrifice had finally paid off.
He could die with contentment in his heart and, after, his spirit would slip into the loving embrace of Mother herself.
How proud she would be. How grateful.
Grenades soared overhead and tumbled across the Atrium, sending the Redmen scattering in all directions. Moments later they went off, a deafening clamour that repeatedly shook the very air around them.
Behind the plasma shield, Jozef and his followers were safe.
He checked his wristwatch one last time, then a serene smile came across his face. He knew that those grenades had been a signal. They indicated the moment at which the point of no return had been crossed.
The payload had arrived.
Jozef waited for a few moments, but he simply could not contain his joy. He got to his feet, fearless, in full view of their enemy. A couple of the Redmen had already retreated. Stepping around the plasma shield, he began to stride across the Atrium toward the Stormgates. The Redmen who had remained were still recoiling from the grenade attack, and at least one of them was injured, being dragged away by one of his comrades.
Jozef kept walking as bullets whizzed around him. He felt untouchable, as if he were somehow above the battle, watching it as a grand master might survey a chess board, rather than being right there in the thick of it. Time seemed to stretch out, each footstep spanning a minute, an hour, an entire day. The last moments of Jozef’s existence seemed to pull taut at the whim of some supernatural force, perhaps even by Mother herself; a final gift to her most favoured son, a moment in which to savour victory.
Skybreach (The Reach #3) Page 24