RED SUN ROGUE

by Taylor Zajonc

  Focus. She was awake now. Aware. The edge slowly returning to her shattered mind. She pulled her wrists against the zip cuffs again, feeling the resistance of the plastic. The ties were tight, well secured, thick. But they wouldn’t be enough to hold her.

  The helicopter jolted against sudden crosswinds. They dropped sickeningly, heeling over as a gust of rain and wind whipped through the open doors, soaking her through the thin cotton gown. The pilots turned to glance at each other, their anxious tension clear as the helicopter picked up speed once more, flying against the roaring wind. Within moments Freya could see lights of Tokyo beneath her, silhouetted skyscrapers rising tall over the endless canals and aqueducts of the coastal megatropolis.

  The helicopter was over the mouth of Tokyo Harbor, the distinctive lights of the shoreline almost invisible through the heavy storm. The tone of the rotors shifted as the pilots slowed the aircraft over massive Yokosuka Naval Base. Japanese warships and marine transports crowded around their American counterparts, men swarming over the vessels like ants as they loaded vehicles, arms, and ammunition under the illumination of harsh white floodlights. The two combat medics were staring now, too, their masked faces trained on the staggering scale of the logistical operation. A few ships slowly pushed away from the dock to make room for others. More moved the short distance to join a growing convoy.

  As the truth dawned on her, rage flowed through her blood, hot like the anesthetic they’d injected into her femoral vein.

  Himura had lied.

  His deliberate, purposeful strikes had nothing to do with environmental revolution. Her cause betrayed, her emotions manipulated, all for this.

  Himura wanted a war.

  She lifted her head as lightning struck one of the tallest buildings, illuminating the city center like a flashbulb. As the helicopter banked, Freya caught the faintest glimpse of an angular shape far below, a matte-black shadow moving upriver from the harbor, like some mythological monster.

  The booming thunder hit again, closer this time. Freya involuntarily yanked her wrist against the restraints, her rain-slicked skin imperceptibly slipping against the plastic ties. A second echoing thunderclap shook the helicopter a heartbeat later. She screamed, twisting her entire body against the plastic restraints, bicep muscles bulging, abdominal stitches giving way as the tie suddenly snapped. Her newly-freed hand snaked towards her other wrist, fingers frantically clawing against the remaining zip cuff.

  A medic grabbed her forearm, twisting it as he shoved a knee into the center of her chest. She wriggled, slipping one of her legs out from underneath the nylon straps. Freya reared back, sweeping her newly-freed foot around the front of his face before bringing her legs down again, pinning his neck between her thighs.

  The second medic lurched toward her with a syringe as she threw a flailing hand between them. The needle plunged through her palm and out the other side as the plunger depressed, spurting bitter anesthetic across her face.

  Freya blinked against the burning fluid as the copilot swiveled in his seat, his pistol already out of its holster. She loosened her grip on the medic between her legs just long enough to slam her heel into the side of the copilot’s face, hurling him forward into the controls.

  The helicopter pitched again as a wind shear dropped it like a stone. The lights of Tokyo dizzying as they spun outside the open doors. Grimacing, Freya used her teeth to yank the empty syringe out of her hand and spit it out of the open door.

  The medics sized her up—both loudly plotting their next move, her element of surprise long since expended. She was still stuck on the gurney with only one hand free, the other bound by an unyielding plastic zip cuff.

  And then they charged, both slamming their shoulders into the side of the gurney. It snapped free from its aluminum mounts with the force of their impact. Only the thick nylon straps across her chest and stomach prevented her from tumbling through the open helicopter door. Her free hand swept back, trying to find something sharp, something heavy, anything she could turn into a weapon in a losing fight. There wasn’t time to focus or breathe. Stinging rain drenched her, and wind violently whipped her across the face.

  With her free hand, she traced the oxygen tubing away from her loosened mask down the arm of her gurney. Her fingers brushed against the smooth aluminum of the high-pressure oxygen tank. She grasped it by the metal nozzle and yanked it from its mount. The medics were shouting now. Then, she felt the jerk of a sudden release as the first of the nylon straps was cut free.

  They were going to throw her out of the helicopter.

  Not this time.

  Freya hurled the oxygen tank out of the open side door. The roaring wind caught the heavy canister as it tumbled through the empty air, yanking against its own tubing a second later, and swinging like a pendulum up towards the tail rotor. It hit the blades with a concussive blast, erupting into shrapnel-filled vapor. The helicopter shrieked, sparks bursting from the tail as the blades tore themselves apart in howling mechanical destruction. The entire aircraft slid sideways, tilting dangerously as the cockpit control panel blossomed into a flashing maelstrom of red system failure lights, the audible stall warning barely audible over the roar of the engine.

  Freya jerked her head toward the medics—one had fallen partly out of the door, his partner desperately clinging to his legs as the aircraft tumbled toward the ground. They were lower than the skyscrapers now, surrounded by wet glass and glistening steel, too low to maneuver.

  The pilots nosed down the aircraft toward a flat-roofed building complex far below, trying to regain control. The spinning helicopter’s free fall was nearing an end, about to crash when the pilots flared hard, the engines spinning up for one final roar as they slowed to a shuddering wobble in the seconds before impact.

  And then they hit. Hard. The nose smashed through a glass skylight on a flat-topped roof, landing gear crumpling, rotor blades splintering into pieces. Freya somersaulted forward, plastic zip cuff and nylon straps giving way as she slammed into the back of the cockpit seats. With the wind knocked from her lungs, and an unconscious medic pinning her against the seats, she tried to breathe but couldn’t. Everything went black, until moments later, her eyes fluttered open once more. Her heart caught in her throat as the creaking helicopter settled in the skylight, fragile struts straining, their metallic groans lost to the cascading rain. Snap. The machine lurched forward again, grinding metal against metal as the nose slipped through the skylight. Freya felt one more heart-stopping moment of weightlessness as the aircraft plummetinged two stories before slamming into the center of a brightly lit interior courtyard.

  With a groan, Freya pushed the weight of the unconscious medic off her back and struggled to her hands and knees. She gingerly scooted to the open helicopter door and extended her toes toward the white-tiled floor below. She ignored the crunch of broken glass beneath her feet. Still struggling to catch her breath, and still dazed, she stepped out of the wreckage and looked around through the haze of medication and adrenaline.

  A dozen startled shoppers stared back at her, frozen in place. Finally, her eyes began to adjust to the glassy storefronts, mannequins, bright lights, and cartoonish posters. The mall was mostly empty, but a crowd of shoppers and workers had instinctively formed a ring around both levels of the courtyard. Several silently raised their phones, recording her.

  Freya looked down at herself, taking in her bloody, rain-soaked hospital gown, her skin slick with high-octane aviation fuel. She cleared her throat, feeling the distinct sensation that she should say something. But she didn’t. Instead, she just stepped into the midst of the crowd.

  They parted easily, their phones silently swiveling to follow her. Freya quickened her pace, her careful steps accelerating to a quick gait, and finally, she broke out into an open, desperate run. Then, the shouting started. The crowd escaped their paralysis as their echoes followed her down the endless corridors of the shopping mall.

  Focus. Breathe in—

  But she couldn
’t focus, couldn’t breathe. And she couldn’t escape. Not on foot. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she spotted the exit to an underground parking garage. She turned abruptly, slipping against the smooth tile as she sprinted towards the heavy double doors. Freya burst through them, their metal handles slamming against the bare cinderblock walls with a bang that shot across the concrete structure.

  The garage was all but empty, with only a few cars parked near the exit doors. Water trickled in a thin stream down the corner of the main ramp, and she could hear the rain and thunder from the distant entrance several floors above. A single car, a compact hybrid, slowly descended the ramp, lights on, wipers struggling against the rivulets of rain streaming from the roof.

  The driver didn’t notice her. He did a careful three-point-turn as he selected a parking space and began to back in. Frey tiptoed across the bare concrete, her feet barely brushing against the cold floor, wet hospital gown gently swaying as she cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders. She waited.

  He stepped from the car, mumbling to himself and coughing as he straightened his sweater vest, using a single finger to tap the nose of his double-bridged glasses. Then he turned toward Freya, keys jangling in his hand.

  He saw her bare feet first. Then, eyes wide, he took in her soaked, half-dressed form. “Keys,” said Freya, pointing to his hand. She gestured for him to give the keys to her.

  The middle-aged driver looked down at his keys, and then back to her again. His hesitation was all she needed. She gently plucked them from his hand and pushed him aside with a muscled shoulder as she took the last two steps to his car.

  Regaining his sense, he swore in protest as he reached out to grab her by the elbow. Freya whipped around and buried her fist in his face, the skin of her knuckles splitting with the sheer force of impact. His head snapped back as he fell, landing flat. Her lungs heaved, hot like fire, rage flowing through her veins, jaw clenched, the vision of Himura’s face in her mind. The things she’d done for him—the people she’d hurt, the pain she’d inflicted on herself—it all flashed through her memory like wildfire.

  “The world has reached a tipping point, one that will inevitably consume us all,” he’d said. She could still hear the sound of his soft voice in her ears. But now, she would make sure Himura would be the first one consumed. She’d take something of his, something that would hurt, something he couldn’t replace.

  Freya slid into the car, slamming the door shut behind her. She looked at the dashboard, confused—there was no steering wheel, no pedals beneath her feet.

  Wrong side.

  Cursing, Freya climbed out of the passenger’s seat and walked around the front bumper, her hand now clutching the back of her immodest hospital gown shut. The crowd had begun to spill into the garage, staring at her, and the unconscious driver on the ground from safe distance.

  She slid into the driver’s seat and locked the door. It was a small car and the seat and steering wheel adjustments were wrong, set for a significantly smaller person than herself. There’d be time to fix it later. She activated the handheld GPS suction-cupped to the windshield. It chirped merrily as it powered up, displaying lines of indecipherable Japanese characters. Freya poked at the ‘back’ button until an icon resembling a cogged gear slid into view. She scrolled through the setup options and selected the English option.

  Knuckles tapped against the window, startling her. Freya looked up to see three white-shirted security guards surrounding the car. She ignored them as the tapping became louder and louder. The men on the other side of the glass starting to shout. There were sirens now, too, barely audible in the distance.

  “What is your destination?” requested the GPS unit in a friendly female voice.

  The security officers started pounding their fists on the windows, their faces now twisted in anger; they were furious with her refusal to acknowledge them.

  “SACB headquarters, Tokyo,” said Freya, almost unable to hear her own hoarse voice over the shouting, muffled security guards.

  A route flashed up on the tiny screen as Freya slipped the car into drive. She hit the gas and brake simultaneously, the car lurching six inches before squealing to a stop. The security guards stepped back, immediately scattering as she hit the accelerator a second time. She pulled away, tires chirping as she slammed into the ramp, flying up towards the entrance and around the corner. She jerked the wheel towards the exit, crashing through the parking arm and flying past the payment booth, both front wheels leaving the payment as she blasted out of the garage and onto the stormy Tokyo streets.

  So Himura wanted a war? She’d give him a fucking war.

  CHAPTER 19

  Lighting danced across angry skies, silhouetting the skyscrapers towering over the Scorpion. The submarine crept up through a Tokyo aqueduct like a primordial creature on the hunt, prowling between roads and apartment buildings, passing shuttered shops and moored sailboats, the churn of her diesel engines masked by pounding rain and the echoing retort of distant thunder. Roiling floodwaters strained against earthen banks and concrete bulwarks, swelled by the heavy storm. The surrounding buildings were lifeless and streetlights dark—entire districts had lost electricity in the storm, shrouding the long, angular Scorpion in rain-drenched, impenetrable darkness.

  Jonah stood at the conning tower platform, the seams of his thick yellow slicker barely holding against the torrential downpour. Alexis was at his side, hair wet, rain streaming down her face, seemingly oblivious to the deluge as she silently watched the passing city. Vitaly stooped over a ruggedized, waterproof laptop networked into the Scorpion’s central systems, using his elevated perch to warily navigate the submarine through the shallow, winding canal. The trio winced as the steel hull gently brushed against sunken debris with a sharp scraping clearly audible over the pouring rain.

  “That one wasn’t so bad—maybe a bicycle?” said Alexis. “Definitely smaller than a refrigerator.”

  Vitaly just grumbled in response as a low bridge loomed ahead. A quiet hiss of air sounded from the ballast tanks as he adjusted the trim. The Scorpion wallowed a few inches deeper into the flood tide, her sinking almost imperceptible. Jonah reached, letting his fingertips brush against the rusting steel beams of the overpass. The support members trembled as a single car passed over them, unaware of the submarine lurking below. The Scorpion’s retracted periscope and snorkel slipped inches below the beams, but not the antenna—the long metal whip hit the bridge and began to bend, straining until it snapped at the base and hung limply, dragging in the canal waters.

  “I suppose you’ll be asking me to fix that?” said Alexis, crossing her arms in irritation.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Jonah. “I’ll just take the replacement cost out of Vitaly’s wages.”

  “Wages?” Vitaly said. “Ha! I laugh. You give Vitaly only two bullets, never money.”

  Jonah paused as the Scorpion cleared the overpass, the stormy afternoon sky opening up above, heavy sheets of sleet drenching them once more.

  “Alexis—make a note to double Vitaly’s salary at the soonest opportunity,” said Jonah. “Maybe a larger caliber this time? The first couple didn’t seem to take.”

  Alexis ignored their banter. “I feel like I’m on a parade float,” she said, her eyes drifting once more to the darkened buildings and empty roads on either side of the canal. “It doesn’t even feel like we’re still on the water. What do we do if somebody sees us?”

  She was right; the Scorpion was completely exposed. There wasn’t nearly enough room to turn around, and even the high floodwaters were far too shallow to fully submerge any portion of the submarine. They should have taken Dalmar’s suggestion and hijacked a car at the edge of the city. They’d be in real trouble if they couldn’t slip the Scorpion unseen along the entire three mile stretch of aqueduct to reach the open river harbor on the other side.

  “If someone sees us, just give ’em the princess wave.” Jonah imitated the motion for effect, as though addressing onl
ookers to a royal procession. “I’ve heard it’s all in the wrist.”

  Jonah tried to keep his optimism in check—they’d made it this far inland without attracting attention, but Dalmar was right; it was a stupid plan. Yes, they’d easily slipped past the gathering Japanese fleet outside Tokyo, all but invisible beneath the massive scale of the mobilization. The whole place was in chaos. The Japanese would soon set sail for North Korean waters, demanding a response to the destruction of their carrier group and daring the hermit kingdom to confront them. Hell, they probably could have snuck a three-ring circus past the disorganized, troop-laden convoy if they’d wanted. The Scorpion’s single, inconspicuous periscope was a cakewalk by comparison. But Jonah knew his options would be vanishingly limited if they were discovered and cornered.

  “You hear that?” said Alexis, pointing towards a faint light in the distant sky. “I think it’s a helicopter.”

  “Gutsy, flying in these conditions.” He could hear it now, too, a faint whop-whop-whop all but lost to the rain and thunder, blinking blue running lights barely visible. Lightning flashed again, the blinding electrical arc connecting with a tall antenna atop a darkened skyscraper. Jonah shielded his eyes as the helicopter disappeared from view, made invisible by the sudden percussion of light and sound. He supposed it didn’t matter—there was virtually no way even an experienced pilot could have spotted the Scorpion through the heavy winter storm.